


Dancing With A Ghost

by Coeurlicue



Category: Final Fantasy X
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Braska's Pilgrimage, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, He Gets Better But I'm Still Warning For It, Jecht Says the "Fuck" Word, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not a Lot of Foul Language, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, The Alcohol Warning Pertains To Jecht, They Won't Get Together Until After They're Both Dead, Unrequited Love, You've been warned, rated for violence and language, spoilers for Final Fantasy X, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-02-08 11:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12863757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coeurlicue/pseuds/Coeurlicue
Summary: Auron was prepared to face certain trials during the pilgrimage--falling in love with Braska wasn't one of them.





	1. Chapter 1

Of course he’d heard about Braska’s return--for all their alleged virtues, priests and warrior monks alike loved nothing more than gossip, and a disgraced priest turned summoner-in-training was perfect fodder for the rumor mill--and maybe he’d seen him around the temple in passing, but both those things were very different from being the sole focus of his attention, as Auron was now. 

Braska’s eyes were kind and bluer than anything Auron had seen in his life, but they had a noticeable sharpness that pinned him to the spot like a butterfly in a collection. 

“You’re Auron, correct?” 

Auron grunted an affirmation, not because he was uninterested in speaking with Braska but because his tongue had cleaved itself to the roof of his mouth the moment he met Braska’s eyes. He considered himself a reasonably intelligent man in most situations, but now he felt dumb as the stone bench on which he sat.

If Braska was bothered by his apparent rudeness, it wasn’t evident. He smiled--sweet Yevon, why did it feel like a bolt of lightning had shot through his heart?--and said, “Forgive me, you must be wondering why I’m here. I am Braska--”

“I know,” Auron said, biting his tongue in his haste to shut his mouth before he spoke without thinking again. He collected his thoughts and said, “I’ve seen you around. You’re training to be--”

“A summoner, yes.” His smile brightened, and the lightning arced from Auron’s heart down through his spine. “I’ve come to speak to you about that. May I sit?”

Auron blinked. What business could a summoner-in-training have with a recently shunned warrior monk? Had he somehow missed out on Bevelle’s latest gossip? He scooted from the center of the bench to make room and said, “Of course.”

Braska took a seat next to him, the silk of his robes whispering against Auron’s bare arm as Braska situated himself. Despite Auron’s attempts to occupy as little space as possible, they kept brushing against each other. It  _ was  _ a small bench, he supposed. After a long second, Braska spoke. “I’ve passed my training. I’m officially a summoner.”

“Then congratulations are in order,” Auron paused, then dipped his head slightly and added, “Lord Braska.”

Braska’s laugh washed over Auron like a cool spring rain. “I appreciate it, but I didn’t come here to brag. I want to ask you to be my guardian.”

“Pardon?”Auron spared a glance at Braska, who looked painfully sincere. He must not know, then. “I’m honored, but you must be mistaken. If you mean to recruit from the warrior monks, I can no longer count myself among them.”

“You were expelled from the order for refusing to marry a priest’s daughter, correct?” When Auron nodded, Braska continued. “But before that, by all accounts, you were an outstanding member of the order. I heard you were going to be made second-in-command.”

“Yes, sir. But--”

“Did you forget your training when they ousted you?” Braska’s tone was no less sincere, but the sharpness in his eyes could carve a boulder in two. He wasn’t going to let Auron off without a struggle, it seemed.

“No.”

“Then you certainly seem qualified to protect me, and you’re no longer bound to the temple,” Braska said. “If I wanted to recruit a warrior monk, I would do so. I want  _ you _ , Auron.”

“Lord Braska,” he said, more breath than speech. When the order banished him, he had a vague idea of how the rest of his story would go. While several of the merchants and villagers he’d interacted with previously had expressed pity at his situation, there was only so much they could do without drawing the ire of Yevon upon themselves. He was dishonored and dishonorable, and nobody with a scrap of self-preservation instincts would be seen offering help. And yet, here Braska was, offering not only help, but a  _ future _ \--he couldn’t afford to refuse, but did he have the right to accept? He swallowed, despite his mouth feeling drier than death itself. “I don’t know how to respond.”

“Would you like to know why I became a summoner?” Braska said. His voice and mannerisms had a way of drawing Auron further into a conversation than he would normally allow--like a gentle breeze that invited him forward without pushing or cajoling.

Auron nodded.

Braska placed a hand on his bare shoulder, squeezing lightly while Auron tried not to flinch away from the physical contact. His skin was warm, almost warm enough to be raise concerns. Auron half expected to find a burn mark where Braska touched him. 

“My wife, Konja, was killed during one of Sin’s attacks, and it felt like my entire world had come to an end with her. I was more corpse than man, barely able to take care of Yuna. When the shroud of grief lifted, I knew I had to end Spira’s cycle of despair. And that is why I became a summoner. Now, may I ask you something, Auron?”

“Of course, sir.”

Braska’s voice was soft and warm, and the weight of his hand on Auron’s shoulder had quickly become reassuring once the initial surprise wore off. “Why did you refuse to marry her?”

Kinoc had asked the same thing, when word of his decision first spread through the ranks and the pain of his expulsion had been too fresh for both of them. Words failed him at that moment, and Auron could only shake his head and leave before the Maesters had him formally evicted. But when Braska asked, it didn’t reopen the wound--if anything, the knowledge of their similar experiences soothed him.

Auron licked his lips. “It didn’t feel right.”

“You sacrificed not only a promotion, but your place in the temple because of a feeling?” Braska said, his tone mild as ever and free of judgment.

“Surely you understand the importance of feelings, my lord. I’ve learned to ignore them at my own peril,” he said, folding his hands in his lap. 

Braska laughed, the sound ringing out like a call to prayer. The thought was sacrilegious, but Auron couldn’t bring himself to care. “You make a good point. I’ve taken up enough of your time, though, and I promised Yuna we’d take one last walk along the river before I left Bevelle. Will you at least consider my request?”

“I will.”

Braska stood. “Wonderful! Regardless of your choice, it was a pleasure speaking with you.”

“I mean, sir,” Auron said, stumbling over his feet as he stood and bowed deeply, “That I will be your guardian.”

If Braska’s smile was electric before, now it threatened to leave him naught but a charred corpse. “Thank you… Sir Auron.”


	2. Chapter 2

At Braska’s insistence, Auron found himself joining his and Yuna’s walk. The weather was lovely, falling just on the right side of unseasonably warm, and the sunlight created shimmering, ephemeral mosaics on the river’s currents.

Yuna had her father’s hair and a disheartening reluctance to look up from the ground. Her face had lit up with unrestrained joy when she first saw Braska approaching, but her smile dimmed and she quickly averted her eyes when she realized Auron was accompanying her father.

“This is Sir Auron,” Braska said, kneeling so Yuna could see his smile. “He’s going to be my guardian.”

“Oh!” Yuna bowed and said, “It’s an honor to meet you.”

Auron returned the bow. “The honor is mine, Miss Yuna.”

She peered up at him with one eye, the other screwed shut. Apparently satisfied with whatever she saw, her smile grew wider. She took her father’s hand, opening her other eye, and--oh. Of course he hadn’t forgotten that Braska’s wife was Al Bhed, but he hadn’t realized Yuna’s heritage would be so visible. While one eye was the same impossibly bright blue as Braska’s, the other was the distinctive green of the Al Bhed. For the sake of Yuna and the delicate web of trust they’d begun building, he pretended he hadn’t noticed.

As they began their stroll along the river, Yuna gradually warmed to Auron’s presence. As he knelt so she could place a messy circlet of flowers on his head, she said, “Sister Adara thinks you’re handsome.”

“Oh.”

Yuna nodded, all wide eyes and earnestness. “But she says it’s a shame you’re so frigid, because she’d need to be treated for frostbite after spending the night with you. But you don’t seem very cold to me! What was she talking about?”

Braska’s face had flushed brilliant crimson all the way up to his scalp, and he mouthed the words “I’m so sorry” above Yuna’s head.

Auron cleared his throat and said, “I’ve spent all day thawing in the sun. Usually, I have icicles hanging off me.”

Yuna giggled, and they resumed walking. It seemed the priests’ decision to pretend Yuna didn’t exist had come back to bite them. The girl was a goldmine of information, even if half of it was salacious hearsay she didn’t entirely understand.

“There’s a man from Zanarkand in jail right now,” she said, repeating the news like she was reciting her lessons. “Brother Lemmel says he’ll probably be executed for heresy. papa, you said Zanarkand was ruins. How was he living there?”

Braska’s brow furrowed. Yuna had bestowed a similar crown upon him, and it shifted and threatened to slip down his face whenever he emoted.  “A man from Zanarkand? I don’t know how anybody could have lived there, dearest. I wonder if they’d let me speak to him.”

Auron shrugged. “They might make exceptions for a summoner, but you’re more likely to find a village idiot who sampled too much of his own moonshine than someone with useful information about Zanarkand, my lord.”

Braska didn’t look dissuaded. If anything, his expression only grew more intrigued as Auron spoke. “But if he _is_ from Zanarkand, we can’t waste the opportunity to speak with him.”

“The choice is yours, sir.”

They finished their walk, and Auron’s attempts to slip away so Braska could say his farewells in privacy were thwarted when Yuna captured him in a surprisingly tight hug.

“You’ll take care of papa, won’t you?” she said, her voice tense with unshed tears.

Auron hesitated for a second, then patted her head in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. “I will.”

“Good.” She sniffled and released him, then bowed. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Sir Auron.”

He returned the bow. “Miss Yuna.”

Yuna turned to her father, tears spilling from her eyes. She embraced him, mumbling a phrase in Al Bhed into his robes, and he stroked her hair as he murmured his response. Auron couldn’t help but feel like an intruder on this scene of familial tenderness.

“She’s a sweet girl,” he said after they’d dropped her off with her teachers at the temple.

Braska nodded, his face pensive. “She deserves a better life than this. Hopefully she’ll have that once Sin is defeated.”

“I’ll make sure she does, my lord.” Auron tried to ignore the way his heart spasmed when Braska smiled, small and sad. Instead, he focused on pouring as much sincerity as he could into his next words. “I promise.”

#

The prison was dank, grimy, and altogether inhospitable--words that applied tenfold to the alleged “man from Zanarkand”. He reeked of alcohol, enough that Auron had to suppress a gag when he opened his mouth to speak. Combined with his brazen lack of respect for summoners and his general oppugnancy, there was no way Braska would even consider--

Of course he did. Braska was nothing if not willing to see the best in others, even if doing so required a magnifying glass and a great deal of creativity. How else would he be so willing to give his life for Spira? Normally Auron would find it admirable, but when Braska’s faith in humanity extended to making a drunken knave a guardian, surely that crossed the line separating “optimistic” from “imprudent.” He’d objected, for all the good that had done. Jecht was a guardian now, Yevon help them all.

“Perhaps we should wait until you’ve sobered up a little to leave,” Braska said, his tone neutral but expression mildly horrified as Jecht ricocheted off pedestrian after pedestrian before tripping and tumbling into a mud puddle.

“I’m as sober as I’ve ever been,” Jecht said as he staggered to his feet before falling face-first into the same puddle.

Auron snorted. “I can believe that.”

Jecht spat out a clump of mud, then attempted to wipe off his face. He only succeeded in smearing it around. “Might need a bath, though.”

“Oh, _now_ you think so,” Auron said, crossing his arms. He didn't want to pick a fight, but Jecht made it too easy.

“Auron,” Braska said, his neutral tone edging towards exasperation.

“Apologies, my lord.” Auron ducked his head, his cheeks warm from Braska’s mild admonishment.

From his mud puddle, Jecht burst into laughter--a low, grating sound. He slapped his leg, sending flecks of mud flying. One of them landed on Auron’s cheek.

Auron took a deep breath, held it long enough to quell most of his irritation, and said, “What’s so funny?”

Jecht simply looked at him and continued cackling. It took three minutes for him to calm down enough to get out of the mud and follow them into the temple.

If there was any silver lining to Jecht’s present state, it was that the priests were too concerned with the piles of sludge he tracked through the temple to recognize him as the drunken heretic they’d arrested earlier. By the time he’d scrubbed off enough of the mud to be recognizable as human and not a new form of fiend, Braska had ensured Jecht wouldn’t be carted off again--at least, not for the same crime.

And now he was outside, showing off for Yuna. Auron supposed he couldn’t begrudge Jecht’s desire to make Yuna happy, even if his blitzball tricks had already broken two windows and nearly decapitated Maester Jinna.

“She hasn’t laughed this much in a while,” Braska said softly, standing to the left and slightly behind Auron. “I hope she’ll be this happy again after I…”

Auron inhaled sharply, wishing he was better at offering comfort. He moved to pat Braska’s shoulder, then thought better of it and let his arm hang by his side. “My lord, I--”

“And this one’s called the Sublimely Magnificent Jecht Shot Mark III,” Jecht bellowed, his words shattering any illusion of privacy they’d had. He punted the blitzball, which bounced off a nearby post and hurtled back towards him. Jecht punched it, sending it flying straight towards Braska.

Acting on instinct and adrenaline, Auron leapt between Braska and the ball. There was a moment of pure pain, then darkness.

#

A warm hand on his cheek, and light shining through his eyelids. Auron opened his eyes, then immediately regretted it. Each beam of sunlight felt like screws being pushed through his eyes and temples. What were blitzballs _made_ of?

“Don’t sit up,” Braska said, moving his hand from Auron’s left cheek to his forehead.

Auron sat up. If the sunlight had been painful, sitting up was excruciating. The pain originated from his right cheek and jaw, spreading outwards until his entire head was a heavy mass of agony. His stomach heaved, and it took all his strength not to retch as Braska lowered him back onto the cot.

Braska looked at him with a strange mix of sympathy, frustration, and mild amusement. He pushed Auron’s hair back from his forehead--when had it come out of its ponytail? Had Braska done that?--and said, “You need to rest. You took quite a blow.”

Auron winced, as much from the memory as the injury. “But you’re uninjured, my lord?”

Braska almost smiled, then shook his head. “I could have ducked, you know.”

“What kind of guardian would I be if I left you in harm’s way?” He closed his eyes as Braska’s hand came to rest on his unbruised cheek again. While its presence was baffling--he couldn’t possibly be feverish from a concussion, could he?--it was soothing in a way he didn’t associate with physical touch, and Auron found himself leaning into the caress. “Can’t you Cure this? We shouldn’t delay your pilgrimage needlessly.”

“I wanted to know the extent of the damage before I tried healing you.” Braska moved his hand from Auron’s cheek to his hair, stroking it gently. “There’s nothing ‘needless’ about making sure you’re well. Do you remember your name and title?”

Auron raised his eyebrows and sighed through his nose. When it became clear that Braska’s question was genuine, he said, “Auron. Your guardian.”

“Good. And I am…?”

“Lord Braska, a summoner.” Auron shifted in the cot, torn between restlessness and the knowledge that he’d definitely vomit if he tried moving too soon.

“Do you remember my other guardian?”

Auron groaned, which set his head throbbing anew. Before Braska could fret, he said, “Yes, I remember Jecht. And his blitzball.”

Braska chuckled, the sound close to a curative on its own. “I think it’s safe to say your memory’s intact. I’ll heal you, but you should take it easy for the rest of the day. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you how serious head injuries are.”

Braska removed his hand from Auron’s head. A blue-white light filled the room and shone through Auron’s eyelids, accompanied by a sensation like a defanged winter breeze. Several seconds later, the burning ache of bruises and a fracture that he hadn’t noticed under the rest of the pain was replaced by the residual tingling sensation of white magic. When he opened his eyes, Braska was smiling down at him. His stomach spasmed--strange, he’d thought healing spells took immediate effect.

“Better?” Braska said, folding his hands in his lap.

Auron nodded and moved to get out of bed. “Thank you, my lord.”

Braska placed a hand on Auron’s shoulder, bringing him to a halt. “You need to rest. We can leave tomorrow morning, if you’re feeling better by then.”

He let Braska guide him back onto the pillow. Despite his attempt at keeping his face neutral, some of his frustration must have shown.

“You must be an unholy terror when you’re sick,” Braska said, still smiling as he walked to the door. “Wait here; I think you have a visitor.”

Jecht sauntered into the room, scratching the back of his head. “Hey. Sorry ‘bout the blitzball.”

“Hmm.” There was no way Braska hadn’t put him up to this. “You could have seriously injured someone, you know.”

Auron could actually _see_ Jecht decide to ignore what he’d said. “Ya got good reflexes, though. I ever find that ball again, maybe you could learn a few tricks.”

Auron rolled his eyes. “Let’s hope you never find it.”

Jecht stood at the side of the cot for a few more seconds, looking utterly lost, before blustering off with an excuse about wanting something to eat. When he left, Auron closed his eyes and let himself sink deeper into the pillow.

“Rest doesn’t seem like such a bad idea now, does it?” Braska sounded entirely too amused about Jecht’s visit, but he had a point.

It was hard to distinguish between creeping dreams and fading reality, but Auron thought he felt Braska’s hand on his hair as he fell asleep.

#

They left Bevelle before dawn, when the world was still chilly and grey-tinged. Before they departed, Braska woke Yuna for one last goodbye.

“You’re leaving now, papa?” she said, her voice still thick with sleep.

Braska nodded, embracing her tightly and kissing the top of her head. “Be strong, dearest. _E muja oui_.”

Jecht knelt down in front of Yuna. “Cheer up, Yuna! We’re gonna beat Sin, and your dad’ll be back in no time.”

Auron’s mouth dropped open. There was no way he would… How could he _not_ know?

The room lapsed into silence until Yuna said, “Thank you, Sir Jecht.”

Either Jecht had been honest about his origins, or he was the most casually cruel man Auron had ever met. Somehow he’d acquired a movie sphere and insisted on recording their walk from the temple to the road out of Bevelle, including his increasingly insensitive questions. A _parade_ , really? Auron had half a mind to correct Jecht’s assumptions, but Braska seemed amused by it all. His lord was patient to a fault.

“You’re not going to record the entire pilgrimage, are you?” Auron said as they trekked down the path to Macalania Temple. They were only ten minutes out of the city, but the air was markedly different. It was more than just a decrease in temperature--the atmosphere was stiller, like the entire area was holding its breath until they passed. He’d never felt so unwelcome in the wilderness.

Jecht shrugged, still recording. “Why not?”

“You’re supposed to be guarding Lord Braska. I don’t see how you’ll do that with a movie sphere glued to your hands.”

Jecht snorted. “Please. How dangerous could it--”

As if possessing a rare knack for dramatic timing, an iguion leapt out of the trees and tackled Jecht.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update! I try to stay at least one chapter ahead of the one I'm posting, but work was ridiculous this week so it took longer than expected to finish chapter three. Thank you to the lovely readers who commented on chapter one; I'm glad people are enjoying it so far! Hopefully this chapter doen't disappoint :)


	3. Chapter 3

Auron drew his sword and charged forward, striking the beast. It turned to face its attacker, giving Jecht the opportunity to roll away and draw his own weapon.

“Can you fight?” Auron called as he narrowly dodged a swipe from the iguion. He glanced over his shoulder to where Braska had stood just before the attack. He appeared unharmed, good. His eyes were open but focused on the sky as he spun his staff in a complex circular pattern. Auron didn’t have time to wonder what incantation Braska was performing, because four more fiends jumped into the fray at that moment.

“I’m--sweet mother of fuck, what _is_ that?” Jecht stared up at the sky, leaving himself vulnerable as another fiend closed in on him. He regained his senses just in time to fend the fiend off, swinging his massive sword in a heavy one-handed arc that threatened foe and foliage alike.

The ground shuddered, sending Auron sprawling onto his hands and knees, his sword jostled from his hand by the sheer force of the miniature earthquake. He grabbed his sword and stood just in time for Braska to pull him to the side of the road, away from the battle. He turned, ready to ask what was going on, but the words died in his mouth when he saw what Jecht had been staring at. Braska had summoned an aeon.

It towered over them, at least three times taller than Braska. Its hide shone purple-black in the sunlight, and each flap of its wings threatened to knock Auron off-balance again.

“Bahamut,” Braska whispered, his fingers still tight around Auron’s wrist. To Bahamut, he said, “Please, aid us.”

Bursts of light gathered near Bahamut before erupting onto the fiends, slaying them instantly and leaving craters in the road.

Braska smiled sheepishly, releasing Auron’s wrist a moment later. “Perhaps I was a little overzealous there.”

Auron sheathed his sword and automatically began tracing where Braska’s fingers had been. When he realized what he was doing, he clasped his hands together behind his back. “That was amazing, my lord.”

Jecht emerged from a bush on the other side of the road, shaking leaves from his hair. “You summoned that thing?”

“That’s what a summoner does, yes,” Braska said with a small laugh. They resumed their journey, Braska explaining the finer points of summoning to Jecht while they walked.

#

By the time they reached Macalania Temple, the sunset was little more than a streak of fading light on the horizon. If the cold air had been sharp before, now it threatened to cut through to the bone. Even with his heavy robes, Braska looked uncomfortable each time the wind picked up. Only Jecht seemed nonplussed by the weather, walking barefoot and bare-chested as though he were still at the beach. It’d be a miracle if he made it through the pilgrimage without falling victim to frostbite.

“Perhaps we should approach the Cloister of Trials tomorrow, after we’ve rested,” Braska said, folding his hands into his sleeves and wincing as the wind blew a fistful of snow into his face. “The map showed a travel agency just south of here. That might be worth visiting.”

“Long as we go somewhere with food, I’m happy,” Jecht said, kicking a snowdrift and sending the resulting explosion of flurries directly into his face. His stubble and eyebrows were coated with ice, which did nothing to help his haggard countenance. He looked like a disreputable mountain hermit.

Braska turned to Auron with a smile that settled in his stomach like a mug of hot tea. “Auron? What do you think?”

Auron licked his lips, catching a snowflake on his tongue in the process. His left arm had gone too numb to hold a sword fifty minutes ago. “We’ll need our strength for the trials, my lord, but it’s your decision.”

“Macalania Temple will still be here tomorrow,” Braska said, inadvertently emphasizing his point with a yawn. “Let’s rest.”

They’d barely stepped past the travel agency’s threshold before they were accosted by an Al Bhed man. He couldn’t have been older than Auron, but he projected the slick pseudo-charm of a businessman twice his age.

“Welcome to Rin’s Travel Agency, the first of its kind,” he said with a smile so bright it almost distracted from shrewd eyes sharp enough to flay a man alive. “How can I help you?”

Braska stepped forward and said something in Al Bhed, to which Rin replied in kind. As they continued conversing in Rin’s native tongue, Auron resolved to learn at least a little Al Bhed during the pilgrimage. The syllables rolled off Braska’s tongue like music, enchanting trills and lilting vowels combined in a melody that plucked at something deep and forgotten inside Auron’s chest.

“We’re in luck,” Braska said in the common tongue as he turned back to his companions. His consonants carried a hint of Al Bhed accent, like a fading trace of perfume. “There was a room available, and he’s offered to set up pallets so we don’t all have to squeeze into one bed.”

“You should take the bed, sir,” Auron said before Jecht had a chance to claim it. In his peripheral vision, he saw Jecht open and close his mouth. Good. The less they fought, the easier the trip would be for Braska. His cheeks warmed and he averted his gaze as Braska studied him, hoping he wouldn’t have to justify his statement. The logic was obvious. Braska was willing to give his life for Spira; he should at least get what few comforts could be found on his pilgrimage.

“Do you have any objections, Jecht?” Braska

Auron glared at Jecht, daring him to disagree.

Jecht raised his hands in exaggerated surrender. “I slept in worse places before. I can handle a night on the floor, as long as I get something to eat.”

For what Rin assured them was the best deal they’d find in the area, they bought three bowls of “local flavor” soup. Considering their other options involved scavenging in the dark and hoping they found something edible before a fiend ate them, he wasn’t exactly wrong. To Auron’s great relief, the local flavor consisted of winter roots in a thick broth.

“I don’t feed fiends to my customers,” Rin said, appearing next to Auron.

Auron paused with his bowl halfway to his mouth, grateful he hadn’t been taking a drink when Rin spoke. He raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“I saw you inspecting the soup, Sir Auron.” Rin leaned against the table. “Poisoned customers are bad for business. Despite what the teachings of Yevon might say, we Al Bhed don’t actively pursue disharmony.”

“Apologies,” Auron said, still holding his soup. The steam curled up to caress his face and hair, stroking his neck like he imagined a lover would.

 _“Ed’c ymm ruhao,”_ Rin said, his eyes shining with true mirth as his gaze flicked from Auron to Braska and back again. “You seem interested in my language.”

Auron nodded. “It’s a beautiful language, and useful.”

Rin produced a worn leather bound book, embossed with Al Bhed script. “Perhaps this could be of use to you.”

“How much for it?” Auron said, already aware that he couldn’t afford it.

“Consider it a gift.” Rin winked as he dropped the book on the table. “An investment in the future, if you will.”

“Oh.” Rin had almost retreated back behind the counter when Auron remembered to say, “Thank you.”

They finished their meals and followed Rin down the corridor to the available room. True to his word, Rin had laid out pallets on the available floorspace, even taking care not to position them too close to the door. The bed, which could tentatively hold two people if they were very close or hoping to become so, was wedged against the far wall. Hopefully Braska didn’t plan on getting up throughout the night.

“Dibs on the good one,” Jecht said, gesturing to pallet closest to the door.

“They look the same, and you haven’t even touched them. What makes that one good?” It didn’t matter either way. A pallet was a pallet, with minor differences between them. But curiosity still got the better of Auron.

“Less shit to trip over when I go to bed. Catch you later; I’m gonna see if Rin’s got anything to drink.” Jecht was out of the room before Auron could protest that they had needed to get an early start tomorrow.

Auron took a seat on the unclaimed pallet. When he looked over, Braska had removed his ornamental headdress. It shouldn’t have been surprising--of course he’d sleep without it--but Auron still found himself reeling from the sudden knowledge of what Braska looked like without his hair covered.

Braska sat on the bed and smiled, unaware of the effect he had on Auron. He wore his nut-brown hair plaited in a long, simple braid that caught the light like satin. It looked impossibly soft. “Auron? Is something wrong?”

He shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. After a moment: “Nothing, my lord.”

Braska pulled the tie from his hair and began undoing his braid. “Why don’t you come sit on the bed? You’ll strain your neck if you keep sitting like that.”

Auron stood, but stayed near his pallet.

“We should get an early night,” he said. The words were unconvincing in his mind, and speaking them didn't help. 

Braska shrugged, his expression still convivial. “If you’re tired, we can sleep, but I thought we could talk for a while. Are you tired, Auron?”

“No, my lord.” The words dissolved the last of the mortar that cemented him in place, and he found himself beside Braska on the bed before he could formulate a new excuse to stay on the floor. The bed was soft, but his proximity to Braska was what truly brought him comfort. “Was there something you wished to discuss?”

“Oh, nothing in particular,” Braska said, shaking out the last of his braid. A bit of his hair brushed against Auron’s cheek like an errant butterfly. It was just as soft as Auron had expected. “Were you always a warrior monk?”

“I wasn’t born into the order, no,” Auron said. He could--and normally would--have left it at that, but he added, “A plague swept through my village when I was five. It killed nearly everyone, including my parents. When it had run its course, there was almost nobody left in the village. The priests in Bevelle took me in, along with the other three children once they knew we weren’t contagious.”

“I’m sorry,” Braska said, placing a hand on Auron’s shoulder and squeezing. While Braska’s casual touches no longer shocked him, they still provoked a strange warmth in his gut.

“Thank you, but it was twenty years ago. There’s no use crying over it anymore.” When he was relocated to Bevelle Temple, he’d sobbed himself to sleep every night only to wake up sticky-eyed and more exhausted than he’d been before bed. Once, less than a month after he’d moved into the temple, Kinoc had questioned him about it and received a bloody nose for his troubles. Even years later, when his supply of tears had run dry, he still woke from half-remembered nightmares of his mother’s last desperate gasps for air before before she died, leaving Auron alone in a cottage that reeked of sickness and death. He shoved the memories to the back of his mind and said, “What about you, my lord? You were a priest before you became a summoner, correct?”

Braska squeezed Auron’s shoulder again before resting his hands on the bed. “For a very short time. I’d only just become a priest when I left to visit the Al Bhed.” His smile dimmed, and his tone grew somber. “I’m sure you know what happened next.”

“They were wrong.” Auron shifted so he was facing Braska. “There was nothing heretical about your love.”

“I never took you for a romantic, Auron,” Braska said, his tone teasing but his eyes soft.

Auron huffed. “Hardly, my lord.”

The spent several hours chatting, the conversation topics ranging from lighthearted anecdotes to wistful remembrances of those they’d lost, and everything in-between. Auron’s eyelids began drooping after thirty minutes or so, and Braska’s suggestion that they continue conversing while lying on the bed seemed the logical course of action. Auron wasn’t nearly deluded enough to consider himself a great conversationalist, but talking with Braska was almost painless. And when he closed his eyes and fell asleep in bed with Braska, his mind and heart were at peace.

The door slammed open, catapulting Auron from slumber to frantic alertness. An intruder? _Oh._ It was just Jecht, clumsy and loud from a night of drinking. Auron rolled his eyes and laid back down as Jecht collapsed perpendicularly on what had been Auron’s designated pallet. That was a mess he’d deal with in the morning.

Morning came sooner than any of them would have preferred, and Auron woke in a warm bed, nestled against Braska. Jecht’s noisy entrance aside, that night’s rest was some of the best sleep he’d had in years. It was worryingly easy to fall asleep next to the summoner. He scrambled out of bed, waking Braska in the process.

“Apologies. It’s morning,” he said in response to Braska’s look of drowsy confusion.

Braska rubbed his eyes and checked the time-telling machina on the bedside table. His long hair was rumpled from sleep, and he began finger-combing it from the bottom up.  “So it is. I suppose we should head to the temple soon. Do you mind if I braid my hair first? It’s completely unmanageable otherwise.”

“Not at all, my lord.” Auron turned and began shaking Jecht, who attempted to swat him away.

Jecht pushed himself up onto one forearm. His eyes were puffy from poor sleep, and the scent of stale liquor rolled off him in nauseating waves. “Whuzzit?”

“Get up. Once Lord Braska does his hair, we’re leaving.”

Jecht groaned, but sat up. “The temple’s not going anywhere. What’s the hurry?”

Auron shook his head and focused on his own appearance. He’d fallen asleep in his haori, rumpling it in the process, but there was no time to fix that. He pulled his hair into a tight, neat ponytail and waited in the corner of the room, stealing the occasional glimpse as Braska plaited his hair with ease.

Braska tied a purple ribbon around the end of his braid and said, “Is everyone ready?”

Jecht groaned again, low in his throat, and threw up.

#

They arrived at Macalania Temple considerably poorer after Rin tacked on an additional cleaning fee to the price for their room. Perched atop the frozen lake, Macalania Temple was a breath-taking combination of both architectural prowess and poor planning. While the frozen walkways leading to and supporting the temple were undoubtedly beautiful, they also looked like an accident waiting to happen. Auron grit his teeth and took small steps, determined not to imagine the multitude of ways he could find himself sliding off the narrow footpath and into the icy grave below.

“Aren’t your feet cold?” he said, as much to distract himself as out of genuine interest.

Jecht looked down at his feet as though he’d only just noticed that he lacked any form of footwear. “Eh. It’s not that bad.”

“Suit yourself.” Then, because he couldn’t help himself: “You’ll lose a toe that way, you know.”

Jecht laughed, a harsh syllable of amusement. “Didn’t know you cared.”

“I don’t.” Auron crossed his arms and followed Braska into the temple, leaving Jecht two steps behind.

Any hopes he’d had of the temple interior being warmer were dashed as they entered the Cloister of Trials. _Snow_. The floor was covered in a thick layer of it, as pristine and crisp as if it’d fallen right before their arrival. Before Auron could proceed across the walkway to the Chamber of the Fayth, Braska grabbed his wrist to stop him in his tracks. The center of the walkway vanished, leaving nothing but air where Auron had almost stepped.

“Thank you,” he said, his breath clouding in front of his face even as his blood warmed from Braska’s touch. “But how did you know that would happen, my lord?”

“I had a hunch,” Braska said, absentmindedly drumming his fingers on Auron’s pulsepoint. It was absurd, but Auron could have sworn his pulse changed to match the beat of Braska’s tapping. “Bevelle’s Cloister was similar, though theirs had far less ice. It seems Yevon’s fond of puzzles.”

“So what, we just mess around with stuff until something happens?” Jecht scooped up a handful of snow and lobbed it into the empty space where the rest of the walkway had been. Unsurprisingly, it had no effect.

“Only if we don’t want to make any progress,” Auron said, turning to face Braska. “How did you solve the puzzle in Bevelle?”

When Braska didn’t respond, he added, “My lord?”

Braska shook his head, blinking. “Sorry, I must have been lost in thought. There were these… spheres that I used in the Bevelle cloister, which unlocked hidden passageways.”

“Well, I don’t see any balls up here,” Jecht said. “Guess we better--whoa!”

He lost his footing, sliding down the slope and skidding across the stone floor until he smacked into a collection of icy stalagmites. The stalagmites, unlike Jecht, looked no worse for wear after the collision.

“Try not to demolish the temple before Lord Braska gets the aeon here,” Auron called down to him. Jecht groaned and made an obscene gesture in response. When Auron glanced over at Braska, he was covering his mouth with one hand, mirth shining in his eyes.

A half-smothered laugh escaped through Braska’s fingers. “Are you hurt, Jecht? You should put some ice on it.”

Jecht groaned again, draping an arm across his eyes. “That’s cold, Braska.”

Braska’s laughter rang through the cavern, bringing warmth and life to the frozen stone walls. Auron found himself smiling, too.

“Perhaps we should be… icer to him, my lord,” he said, wishing he was better at delivering jokes. Every attempt he’d made in the past had resulted in awkward wordplay delivered in a deadpan that left his audience confused about whether or not he’d made a joke, and this time was no exception. Well, he’d tried.

And if Braska’s renewed peals of laughter were any indication, he’d succeeded. Braska shook his head, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. “Thank you, Auron.”

Once they’d descended the ramp and helped Jecht to his feet, they began puzzling out the trial.

“Push this pedestal here; stick this ball in that socket,” Jecht grumbled as they trekked into the newly accessible lower level. “What’s the point of all this?”

“Perhaps it’s to test our dedication,” Braska said, placing the glyph sphere in one of three identical sockets on the wall. There was a moment of silence as they strained to hear the telltale icy _whoosh_ of the walkway segments reappearing. When their anticipation was met with silence, “Or maybe they just like to make things difficult.”

“You’re telling me.” Jecht fished in his pack until he retrieved a flask. When he noticed Auron glaring as he drank, he held the flask out and said, “What’s with the scowl? Did you want some?”

“Don’t you think you should be sober for this?” he said, crossing his arms.

“What, in case a rogue icicle tries to kill Braska? Calm down; I can fight drunk better than anyone else can sober,” Jecht said before taking another drink. He licked his lips and belched, effectively ending the conversation.

After more trial and error, the walkway reappeared in its entirety and they were able to cross. With an apologetic smile and a quick explanation that only summoners could enter the Chamber of the Fayth, Braska disappeared into the next room, leaving his guardians in each others’ company.

Perhaps smarting from Auron’s rebuke, Jecht was uncharacteristically silent for almost a minute until he stooped down and said, “Hey, Auron! You ever had a snowball fight?”

“What? Why would--” Before he could finish his question, a snowball hit him square in the face, exploding partially in his mouth. He spat out the chunks of snow that hadn’t already melted down his throat, certain his face gave off enough heat to reduce Macalania Temple to a puddle and some stones. Across the room, Jecht was doubled over with laughter. Auron shook his head, ready to resume ignoring Jecht, when temptation got the better of him. He knelt down, grabbed a handful of snow, and lobbed it at the side of Jecht’s head.

Jecht stopped laughing and rubbed his head with an expression of incredulous delight. “Oh, it’s _on_!”

Auron ducked behind a pillar to prepare his next assault. The crunch of footsteps in the snow--of course Jecht was impatient, and that would be his downfall. Auron leaned out from behind his pillar, drew his arm back for the shot--

And hit Braska right as he emerged from the Chamber.

“Lord Braska, I’m so sorry,” Auron said, rushing to his side. He moved to dust the snow off Braska’s robes, lowered his hands as he thought better of the action, then raised them halfway, paralyzed by indecision. “Are you hurt?”

Braska shook his head, his expression distant. Then he smiled, his gaze snapping back to the present. “I’m fine, Auron. Just startled. Were you… having a snowball fight?”

Auron nodded, feeling hot enough to evaporate and wishing he could do so. He tucked his hands behind his back and said, “You received the aeon, sir?”

“Yes. Would you like to meet her?” Braska’s eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, but the familiar spark of ebullient life still shone bright in his eyes.

“May we?” Auron almost sighed with relief. No lasting harm was done, and once his shame stopped burning in his cheeks and throat, he could learn from his mistake.

“Of course. But first,” Braska paused, scooping some snow off the wall. Fast as a fiend and twice as dangerous, he pelted both Auron and Jecht with snowballs.

Jecht returned fire all too eagerly, throwing snowballs at Braska and Auron with wild abandon and missing his targets as often as he hit them. Auron stood there, unable to so much as flinch away from the oncoming missiles until Braska sidled up to him, his breaths short and hot against Auron’s ear as he spoke.

“Let’s team up against him. On my mark?”

A short nod in response, subtle enough that Jecht didn’t pick up on it from across the room. Auron scooped up a fistful of snow, patting it into something resembling a sphere as he waited for Braska’s signal.

“Now!”

They flung their missiles in tandem, striking Jecht in the face and torso. He reeled back, shaking his head. For a split second it looked like he’d retaliate, but then he froze in place, his head cocked to one side.

“You hear someone singing too, right? How does anyone in Spira _know_ this song?” Jecht’s voice bordered on reverent, like he feared the wrong word would shatter the moment. He resembled a man caught in a living dream.

Braska moved to Jecht’s side. “Are you familiar with the Hymn?”

“It’s… it’s something I used to sing to my kid. Back in Zanarkand. Don’t remember how I learned it, though.” He rubbed his eyes and grunted. His voice was huskier than usual when he said, “Doesn’t matter. Why are we still standing around?”

They left Macalania Temple, Jecht humming the Hymn of the Fayth under his breath as they walked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly can't thank everyone enough for reading this. Hopefully this chapter didn't disappoint! It only took over a month for the fic to deliver on the "Jecht says the 'fuck' word" tag, lmao.


	4. Chapter 4

Stepping out of Macalania Forest and into the Thunder Plains was like entering a different world altogether. The air crackled with ozone and smoke as they traded the shelter and relative safety of the forest for the barren, storm-struck terrain of the Plains. Despite the fact that it couldn’t have been later than midday, the heavy layer of clouds obscured the sun. The only light came from the frequent bursts of lightning, which had left deep pits in the rocky terrain.

Lightning shot from the sky to the ground, striking the spot where Auron had stood only seconds ago. He leapt back, his heartbeat nearly drowning out Jecht’s startled curses. His nose stung as the ground in front of him blackened and smoked, and he was certain he could feel remnants of electricity crawling over his skin like millions of insects. 

He’d almost calmed himself when another bolt of lightning came, this time striking a nearby tower. Across the horizon, the towers attracted the brunt--though certainly not all--of the storm’s fury. 

Braska, having also noticed the pattern, gestured for them to follow him to the nearest tower. Up close, the tower proved to be a massive lightning rod constructed of wrought metal situated in a stone base. Years and countless storms had left the metal charred until it was impossible to guess what its original color had been. 

Another bolt of lightning erupted from the sky.

Jecht whistled, an ear-splitting noise in both its volume and pitch. “Think it’s gonna be like this the whole way across?”

“Storms. On the Thunder Plains. Imagine that,” Auron said, inwardly impressed at how steady his voice was. His heart still threatened to beat itself into an early grave--that lightning had been entirely too close for comfort. 

“Bet I can dodge them,” Jecht said, stepping away from the lightning rod and squaring his shoulders.

“Are you stupid? We can’t afford to waste potions because you decided to--”

The world lit up with another bolt of lightning aimed directly at Jecht. He jumped back, performing a somersault midair before landing in a crouch. He straightened up and placed his hands on his hips, beaming.

“I told ya!” His expression grew thoughtful. “Hey, Auron! I need you to get a recording of me doing that.”

Auron looked to Braska, silently urging him to agree as he said, “We shouldn’t stay here longer than necessary. It’s dangerous.”

Braska nodded. “We can’t spend too much time here, but do you promise it won’t take long?”

“Just one video of me dodging the lightning, and then we’re done,” Jecht said, fishing through his pack for the movie sphere. He found it and tossed it in Auron’s direction.

Auron caught the sphere and rolled his eyes. “Fine. You get one shot.”

“That’s all I’ll need,” Jecht said as he squared his shoulders. “Ready?”

Auron turned the sphere over in his hands until he found the recording button. He pushed it, getting a shot of Jecht and Braska standing side-by-side before Braska walked away. He spun slowly, recording the ever-present thunderstorm.

“Hey! Hold it steady!” Jecht said, uncrossing his arms as he admonished Auron. 

“Why am I doing this?” Auron’s thumb slipped and pressed the recording button again, this time stopping the video. He pressed it again before Jecht could notice anything was amiss. 

Braska stood next to him now, watching the storm with a wistful expression. 

“What do you see there, my lord?” Auron said, momentarily forgetting his task as amateur spheremaker as he studied Braska. 

“Oh, I was just… thinking.” Braska shook his head, the exhaustion he’d shown in Macalania Temple creeping back onto his features. 

“This is important! No fooling around!” Jecht shouted, obscured by the large rock formation between him and Auron. “You’re gonna spoil it!”

He continued watching Braska for a while longer, transfixed by the way the ever-changing shadows played over his face. Even the harsh brightness of the lightning couldn’t diminish his undeniable beauty. It was mesmerizing. 

He looked away just in time to watch as Jecht, distracted by yelling at them, got struck by lightning. Jecht’s midair flip was considerably less graceful this time, and he landed flat on his back with a heavy, painful thump. 

“Are you all right?” Braska said, moving to inspect Jecht’s injuries. To Braska’s surprise and relief, he’d sustained little, if any, damage from being struck by lightning. A couple bruises to match his ego, but nothing requiring medical attention.

“Now there’s a scene for posterity,” Auron said with a smile.

Braska laughed, all traces of exhaustion and sadness disappearing from his expression and demeanor. Though not what Jecht had intended, his diversion was worth the trouble, after all. Anything to make Braska happy.

They helped Jecht up to his feet and hastened to the nearest tower. When Auron half-jokingly offered to record him dodging lightning again, Jecht only shook his head and stomped away.

#

“Is there a temple in this ‘Guadosalami’ place, or…?” Jecht said as they entered the subterranean city. Branches as thick as Auron’s forearm grew to form the walls and ceiling, twisting and braiding together like a nest of snakes.

“Guadosalam doesn’t have a temple, no,” Braska said, placing subtle emphasis on the correct pronunciation. “We’re only passing through here on our way to the Moonflow. From there, we’ll take a shoopuf to Djose Temple.”

“Nice, nice,” Jecht said. If Auron had to guess, he’d stopped listening after Braska said “no.” “Think we can get some food here? Gettin’ struck by lightning really works up an appetite.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to linger a while,” Braska said, trailing off. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Several seconds later, too long for it to have been what he’d originally wanted to say: “We might as well stock up on supplies while we have the chance.”

“Braska, sir, is something on your mind?” Auron said as they entered the shop. “You seem… preoccupied.”

Braska smiled. In the shop’s light, his exhaustion was clearer. He looked thirty seconds away from falling asleep on his feet. “Truthfully, I--”

“Pardon me,” a Guado man said in a deep, quavering voice. He placed a hand on Braska’s shoulder. “But I couldn’t help but overhear--you wouldn’t happen to be  _ Summoner _ Braska, would you?”

Auron took a step forward, both to offer a steadying arm to Braska and to glower at the stranger. It was unlikely the man would attack, but wasting Braska’s time was just as dangerous when he was so tired.

“I am,” Braska said, accepting Auron’s arm and leaning enough of his weight on it so he no longer swayed where he stood. “Can I help you?”

“I am Tromell, retainer for Lord Jyscal Guado. He’s been hoping to speak with a summoner for some time, and it seems Yevon has finally smiled upon us,” he said, performing the Yevon prayer. “Please, allow us to be your hosts for tonight.”

Braska looked at Auron, eyebrows raised in a silent request for his input. 

Auron pursed his lips and shrugged with his free arm. He didn’t want to linger more than necessary, but Braska deserved a break. “We’ve had a busy day, my lord. We’re bound to encounter fiends outside of Guadosalam, and we’ll need our strength.”

“Good point.” Braska turned back to Tromell and said, “We gladly accept your master’s offer of hospitality.”

They collected Jecht from the home he’d barged into, having mistaken it for a business. The Guado tenant, who’d been threatening Jecht with a broom, slammed the door behind them as they left.

“I’m just saying, maybe they could’ve marked that door, let people know it’s not a store,” Jecht said, his words mixing together in one long, petulant slur.

“You mean like how stores have signs in front of them?” Auron said, shaking his head. It’d be a miracle if Jecht didn’t wind up in prison again during their journey. “Just… try not to commit any more crimes. It reflects badly on Lord Braska.”

Tromell ushered them into the foyer before disappearing up one of the two identical staircases with the promise that Lord Jyscal would arrive momentarily. Jyscal’s manor was just as overgrown as the rest of Guadosalam, with thick roots twisting across the plush carpet. Despite the obvious signs of life, the manor had the ambience of a place long-since abandoned. 

“Welcome, Lord Braska,” Jyscal said as he descended the stairs, his tone and expression as inviting as a stone tomb. His gaze flicked to Auron and Jecht, and he raised an eyebrow. “And you would be his guardians? Truly, we are honored to have a summoner as a guest. Tell me, will you be visiting the Farplane during your stay in Guadosalam?”

“I’d hoped to, yes,” Braska said. 

Jecht elbowed Auron in the ribs. In a drunkard’s whisper, he said, “Hey. What’s the Farplane?”

“Shut up. I’ll explain later,” Auron hissed back. 

Jyscal nodded at Braska, the picture of solemn approval. He beckoned for them to follow him through the double-doors on the ground floor, leading them into a spacious circular dining room. Plush benches lined the walls, and a massive table laden with fruits occupied the center of the room. It hardly seemed like a logical layout for hosting large groups of people, unless the purpose of the seating arrangement was to discourage conversations among guests except between those people seated immediately to the left or right of each other. 

“Please, help yourself to the refreshments,” Jyscal said as Jecht descended upon the platters of fresh fruit. “Lord Braska, may I say that your renewed dedication to Yevon is commendable? To not only return to the teachings, but become a summoner is truly inspirational.”

“Lord Braska never strayed from the teachings,” Auron said as he helped Braska into a seat. He remained standing, hands clenched at his sides, until Braska motioned for him to sit. “His exile reflected poorly on Yevon, not him.”

Braska’s smile was tight and uncomfortable. Should he have stayed silent? How could he, in the face of such an insult? “Thank you, Auron. And Lord Jyscal, I’m honored you would say so. I’m afraid I don’t remember everything, but I understand you brought the teachings of Yevon to the Guado?”

Jyscal steepled his hands in front of his face. “Perhaps the greatest thing I’ll ever do. We Guado have long served as protectors of the Farplane’s entrance, and turning to Yevon’s guidance was only natural. How else can we hope to end Sin’s grip on Spira, if not through Yevon?”

Braska nodded, taking longer to raise his head each time. He bolted upright, his eyes snapping open. “I’m so sorry, Lord Jyscal. I must be more tired than I’d thought.”

“Of course.” Jyscal nodded to Tromell. “I’ve found it pays to keep the guest rooms prepared. Tromell will lead you to your rooms.”

Auron laid on top of the covers, exhausted but unable to sleep. After years of sharing a living space with the other warrior monks, the silence that came with sleeping alone provided no comfort. Rather than calm Auron’s nerves, the quiet set them rattling and buzzing like wasps in a glass tube, desperate for a release valve. He closed his eyes and focused on slowing his breaths, hoping that would lull him to sleep. 

From the other side of the wall: “Oh.”

He probably wouldn’t have heard it if he hadn’t already been straining his ears for sounds of life within the manor. The walls were thick, and the purple tapestries that adorned them absorbed most noise. But in the stillness of night, Braska’s voice carried past them.

Auron didn’t think twice before climbing out of bed, his footsteps muffled by plush carpet as he shuffled out of his room and into the hallway. He’d raised his hand and knocked on Braska’s door when doubt struck. Whatever had caused Braska’s outburst was a private affair, and he should respect that. It was too late to return to his room, but that didn’t mean he had to ask what had happened. The apology was ready on his tongue when the door swung open and he was struck speechless.

Braska had changed into a loose sleep tunic and matching trousers, and while his hair still hung in its usual heavy plait, several strands had begun to come loose from it. Though there was nothing immodest about Braska’s sleepwear and warrior monks grew accustomed to seeing each other undressed early in their training, the sight of Braska so dishevelled carried an intimacy he couldn’t have prepared for. Auron averted his eyes. 

“Sorry to disturb you,” he said, studying the doorframe just right of Braska’s face. “I thought I heard you cry out, but…”

“Why don’t you come in?” Braska said right as Auron said, “I should go.”

Braska gestured for Auron to follow him in. The room had been recently cleaned, but it still bore the lingering musty scent of a room left unoccupied and untouched for too long. Strange, Auron’s guest room hadn’t smelled like that. 

Braska closed the door and said, “I found something. It was poking out of the top drawer, and I got curious.”

He handed Auron a folded piece of paper, grubby and tattered with age. Auron unfolded it. Though time had faded some of the drawing’s details, it depicted a Guado man, a human woman, and a child with remarkably branch-like hair but few Guado features otherwise. Written in childish scrawl beneath the respective subjects was,  _ Dad. Mom. Me. _

Auron pointed to the one labeled  _ “Dad.” _ “Is that supposed to be Lord Jyscal?” 

“I believe so,” Braska said. “There’d been rumors that Lord Jyscal married a human woman years ago, but I never heard what happened after that.”

The obvious answer hung in the air like poison gas, invisible and suffocating. That three-letter word haunted every Spiran, no matter how they might try to briefly forget the threat that loomed on the horizon.

Auron laid the drawing on the nightstand and turned to Braska. He forced himself to hold Braska’s gaze as he said,  “We’ll defeat Sin, sir. We’ll stop this from happening again.”

#

“So, uh,” Jecht said as they climbed the steps to the Farplane. “This is where people go when they die?”

“That is what we believe, yes,” Braska said. He’d stopped walking when he answered Jecht, but his eyes were fixed on the portal to the Farplane. 

Jecht scratched his head and cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice was gruffer than usual. “But  _ we  _ won’t die when we visit there, will we?” 

“Scared?” Auron said, rubbing his bare arm. The air was colder here, and it scratched at his skin like needles. If he were more superstitious, he’d attribute the chill to the proximity of the deceased. 

“The Great Jecht?  _ Scared? _ As if! I’m just saying, we gotta defeat Sin. Can’t do that if we die,” Jecht said. He’d stood on the fourth stair from the top for almost ten minutes, and he showed no signs of moving forward anytime soon.

A subdued syllable of laughter, then Braska said: “We’ll be perfectly safe in the Farplane, but you’re welcome to wait here if you wish.”

Jecht grumbled a collection of non-words. “I’m coming. Just… gimme a sec.”

The multicolored membrane that separated the Farplane from the living world enveloped them as they stepped through the portal, morphing with even the smallest movements. It was like walking through custard; each push forward was met with gelatinous resistance. 

If the steps leading to the Farplane were chilly, the Farplane itself was glacial. Auron’s breath burned his throat and clouded in front of his face as he followed Braska onto the stone platform.

“So, uh, I’m not seein’ any dead folks,” Jecht said, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a boxer. Did he expect the spirits of the dead to challenge him to a fistfight? When Auron considered that possibility, it didn't seem too unlikely.

“The spirits of the dead are summoned by our memories of them. By thinking of them, we can bring them back to us.” Braska stopped at the edge of the platform, his arms folded in front of him and hands tucked in his sleeves. 

The apparition of a woman appeared in front of him, her smile almost as bright as her short, blonde hair. Though Auron had begun backing away the moment she appeared, he couldn’t help but notice that she had the spiral pupils of an Al Bhed. That would be Konja, then. 

He moved to an unoccupied area of the platform and concentrated on the memory of his parents. An impossibly warm and tight embrace, a deep laugh that seemed to shake the foundation of the earth… No. It wasn’t enough to summon them. He hadn’t expected it would be, but there’d still been a spark of hope hidden deep in the back of his mind. They were gone, and not even his faded, crumbling memories could bring them back.

Jecht appeared next to him and clapped him on the shoulder. “No dead people to summon? Aren’t you lucky!”

“Mm,” Auron said, shrugging Jecht’s hand off of him.

“I’ll see you soon,  _ E bnuseca. _ ” He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on Braska, but sound carried easily in the Farplane. He’d resolved to pretend he hadn’t heard when Braska spoke again. “Before I go, there’s someone I want you to meet. Auron, could you come over here?”

Auron returned to his side before Braska’s words had time to settle. “Yes, my lord?”

Braska took Auron’s hand, his grip loose enough that Auron could easily extricate himself. He didn’t want to. “Konja, this is Auron. He’s one of my guardians, and… I think you’d like him. He reminds me of you, in some ways-- _ cdippunh _ .” While Auron couldn’t yet understand what he’d said in Al Bhed, it sounded like a term of endearment. The fact that Braska squeezed his hand lightly while saying it both supported that assumption and added to his confusion.

Konja didn’t speak--were the spirits in the Farplane able to?--but she met Auron’s eyes and nodded once, slowly. She looked back at Braska and crossed her arms, though her eyes still sparkled with fondness.

“Yuna needs you.” Her words were felt more than heard, and they carried a strong Al Bhed accent. They pushed at Auron’s mind like a tide, just forceful enough to knock him off-balance.

“I know.”

Konja pursed her lips. Her voice was stronger as she said,  _ “Drah meja. Vun ran.” _

Braska shook his head, his smile wilting. “You know I can’t do that.”

She rolled her eyes and directed her next statement to Auron. “Please... protect him. I know he won’t protect himself.”

Auron nodded, though he couldn’t help but feel like he was missing at least half of the context for their conversation. Why wouldn’t Braska protect himself? Instead of asking, he replied, “I will.”

Konja smiled. The corners of her mouth turned upwards, at least. Her demeanor wouldn’t have been out of place at a sending. “Braska,  _ E lyh fyed _ .”

“So, that was your wife, huh?” Jecht said as they left the Farplane. “Seems nice.”

“She is,” Braska said, his voice watery. “Ah. She was. You didn’t have anyone to visit, Jecht?”

“Nope. Me and Auron, we’re lucky that way,” Jecht said, his tone almost suspiciously nonchalant. “Sorry ‘bout your wife.”

Braska looked at Auron. His eyebrows furrowed and his frown deepened, but he didn’t ask about Auron’s parents. Instead, he said, “Thank you, Jecht. And thank you both for allowing this diversion.”

“Of course, my lord.” When Jecht began walking away, Auron leaned into Braska’s space and whispered, “Thank you.”

Braska squeezed Auron’s hand again, the action serving as both an apology and a consolation.

“Hey, might as well visit while we’re here, right?” Jecht’s voice grew more boisterous with each step they took away from the Farplane. “Next stop… where are we going, again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2018, everyone! I feel like a broken record saying this in pretty much all my chapter notes, but I can't thank y'all enough for taking the time to read this. Really, it means the world to me that people take the time to read (and comment on!) my stuff. You're the best. :)
> 
> It feels like it always takes an act of G-d to get me to post chapters because I'm a bit of a perfectionist, but this one was especially troublesome. Hopefully you enjoy it.


	5. Chapter 5

The omnipresent clouds that lingered over the Moonflow glowed eerie yellow from the noonday sun, and the air was heavy with recent rain and the spicy-sweet perfume of moonlilies. While travel was never a common pastime in Spira, the north wharf was emptier than usual. The few other travelers kept to themselves and spoke quietly, if they spoke at all.

“We’ll cross here.” It was the first time Braska had spoken since they’d left Guadosalam. “At least we won’t have to wait long for the--Jecht, what’s wrong?”

Jecht had drawn his sword, his eyes wide and wild. “Don’t just stand there! Let’s get it before it kills someone!”

Auron spun, trying and failing to find the fiend that had caught Jecht’s attention. In the meantime, Jecht had charged forward, his sword raised above his head. “Where--Jecht, no!”

There was no way he’d reach Jecht in time to intervene. He tried anyway, and was two feet away when Jecht leapt and struck the shoopuf high on its right hind leg. As he dropped back to earth, Auron tackled him. Jecht’s sword fell from his hand and dropped into the mud with an anticlimactic squelch.

Behind them, the shoopuf handler berated them with varying levels of coherency.

“What’re you doing? Get off me!” Jecht elbowed him in the gut, knocking the remaining breath from his lungs. Ever the opportunist, Jecht used that opening to squirm free and grab his sword.

“Jecht, stop! It’s not a fiend.” Braska ran over, standing between Jecht and the injured shoopuf. To the handler, he said, “I am  _ so  _ sorry. He’s never seen one before. Here, let me help.”

While Braska and the handler negotiated the cost of Jecht’s attack, Jecht stumbled to a spot on the riverbank and curled up in the recovery position. Served him right for treating liquor like a food group. 

Braska returned with an expression that could only be described as “shell-shocked.” 

“That bad?”

“I gave him all my gil to convince him to let us ride,” Braska said, wincing. He shrugged and said with forced cheer, “We can always hunt fiends for money.”

Auron stalked over to Jecht’s rucksack, which had been abandoned by the road when Jecht attacked the shoopuf. He dug through it, hoping to find and confiscate any remaining alcohol. Instead, a new idea struck him as his fingers came in contact with Jecht’s movie sphere.

He pressed the recording button with every intention of marching over to Jecht and berating him, but he found himself distracted by the sight of Braska by the Moonflow. He stood there for several seconds, admiring the way Braska’s robes contrasted with the faded greens and blues of the landscape. Braska wore serenity like a second set of robes, and he shared it with those around him as easily as he smiled. A few pyreflies had gathered on the river’s surface before nightfall, and they danced along the water and through the air like miniature meteors. Auron could have spent all day enjoying the rare moment of peace embodied in this scene, but there was still the matter of Jecht.

“What are you shooting me for?” Jecht grumbled as Auron walked over to him.

“So you don’t do anything stupid again,” Auron said.  _ To publicly shame you _ was closer to his real motivation, but it wouldn’t have sounded nearly as good on video. He walked a couple steps to the left, taking care to keep the movie sphere focused on Jecht. “I can’t believe you attacked that shoopuf. Lord Braska had to pay the handler for damages--from his own travel money.”

He returned the movie sphere to Jecht’s pack after Jecht promised to stop drinking, then wished he hadn’t as Jecht grabbed his remaining supply of liquor and tossed it into the Moonflow. If given unlimited chances to guess what Jecht’s next action would have been, that wouldn’t have even occurred to him. Could he actually be serious about sobering up? Wasn’t that dangerous? Judging by his expression, Braska was equally shocked. 

They boarded the shoopuf, accompanied by a litany of passive-aggressive comments from the handler, and began their trip down the river. Jecht slumped to the carriage floor with a groan, cradling his head in his hands.

“Regretting your decision already?” Auron said, guilt settling heavy in his gut the moment he spoke. Jecht had already tossed his liquor in the river; he shouldn’t discourage him. 

“More like regretting your decision to tackle me,” Jecht shot back. “I think I hit my head on a rock.”

Auron bit his lip, but refused to feel bad for that. Jecht  _ had  _ been ready to attack the shoopuf again. “Have you been on a shoopuf before, my lord?”

“Once, years ago,” Braska said. He looked over the edge of the carriage and sighed, relaxing back into his seat. “The wonder never wears off, though.”

For such a large animal, the shoopuf moved through the water with surprising speed and grace. It navigated the bends and changing currents of the Moonflow without altering its gait in any noticeable way. Between the shoopuf’s steady pace and the heavy blanket of clouds above them, it was all Auron could do to not fall asleep. They disembarked at the south wharf, leaving the handler with another apology for the injured shoopuf, and walked the rest of the way to Djose Temple.

When they arrived, they were greeted by a scene of utter devastation. Sin had attacked.

Though Sin was still far out at sea, sinspawn ran rampant on the Djose shore. Splintered wood and other flotsam bobbed on the waves before crashing on the beach. A tanned body, too small to be an adult, breached through the water before sinking below the surface again. 

Jecht had begun sprinting to the ocean as soon as they saw the child.  Auron grabbed his arm, halting him in his tracks. 

“We gotta save ‘em!” Jecht said, wrenching his arm free. 

“We can’t,” Auron said. “That close to Sin, there’s no chance they…”

Braska nodded solemnly, his lips pressed into a tight line. “All we can do is prevent further damage, and perform the sending for Sin’s victims.”

Jecht grunted and drew his sword. He struck the nearest sinspawn, shattering it into pyreflies in one blow. The sinspawn nearest to their fallen comrade surrounded Jecht, shooting spines at him in retaliation. Jecht gripped his abdomen and looked a millimeter away from becoming violently ill, but remained upright. 

“I’ll try to drive Sin away,” Braska said, gripping his staff in front of him.

“Alone?” Auron said, panic gripping his heart and squeezing. He reached for Braska’s sleeve, ready to drag him away from the fight if necessary. “You can’t. You’ll--”

“With the aeons. It’s the only way our attacks can reach it.” His eyes were blue fire. “Auron, will you help Jecht deal with the sinspawn?”

Auron nodded. To Jecht, he said, “Attack the ones closest to the temple. We can deal with the rest later.”

Jecht cut a path through the sinspawn. He ran through to join Auron, dragging his sword in the sand. 

Auron took a steadying breath and studied the beach. Most of the sinspawn were concentrated near the ocean. Good, that should make easier to drive them away from the temple and civilians. He identified the one closest to the temple, moved forward, and sliced it in two.

While he chose the next target, the sinspawn gathered closer with a sickening rustle of chitin. Jecht swung his sword in a wide arc, the blade whistling just inches away from Auron’s abdomen. He’d have to discuss the concept of “collateral damage” with him when they weren’t in mortal peril.

Auron stepped forward, acutely aware of how the sand slipped and shifted beneath his boots. He selected and attacked another sinspawn, only to lose his balance and land hard on his knees. Behind him, there was a sound like windchimes made of ice.

The aeon Braska summoned somehow managed to look more and less human than Bahamut had. She resembled an attractive woman, but any beauty was offset by by the rime and chunks of ice that covered her body. She moved and fought like a blizzard--graceful, deadly, and altogether wild.

Auron’s breath clouded in front of him as he and Jecht regrouped to slay the last of the sinspawn. The pyreflies swarmed around them before dispersing up into the sky, and he released a sigh of relief. Sin was retreating. It was far from a glorious victory, but they’d driven it away from Djose.

Jecht dropped into a crouch to catch his breath, his sword discarded next to him. He jumped to his feet not a moment later. “Hey, what’s Braska doin’?”

Braska sat at the edge of the shore, uncaring of the waves that lapped at his robes. He tugged his boots, then his socks off, depositing the socks in his boots and leaving both on the beach as he walked out onto the ocean. The water had gone still and even the wind seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of the sending. He raised his staff and began to dance. 

“He’s sending the spirits of the dead,” Auron said, keeping his voice low. He doubted anything short of another attack would break Braska’s concentration, but it felt disrespectful to raise his voice above a whisper.

Braska fell into the ritual steps as gracefully and easily as if they were an extension of his natural motions. Auron supposed that if they weren’t already, they would be by the time they reached Zanarkand. Braska danced, and the pyreflies of Sin’s victims rose up from the ocean to swirl around him. As he reached the summit of his dance, the water held him aloft. The pyreflies were high above him now, spiraling up into the clouds. Auron’s breath caught in his throat, and he could have sworn that some part of him departed with them. When Braska completed the sending, he crossed the water and stumbled back onto the beach. 

Auron was by his side to steady him the moment his feet touched the sand. “Do you need anything, my lord?”

Braska leaned his weight against him. His skin was clammy and feverishly hot, but his eyes showed no signs of anything more serious than fatigue and sorrow. “Just… let me catch my breath. Then we can enter the Cloister.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took me forever to update this! Work's been hella busy lately, so I've had far less free time than I'd really like. I can't thank y'all enough for taking the time to read (and occasionally comment on!) this. <3
> 
> And I really hope nobody's taking life advice from my fic, but it's incredibly dangerous (and can be lethal) for an alcoholic to go cold turkey. But Jecht's also in a world where healing magic exists, and I assume that helps with withdrawals and all that.


	6. Chapter 6

As they departed Djose Temple and embarked down the Mi’ihen Highroad, the storm passed in more ways than one. With the reappearance of the sun came high spirits that even Auron couldn’t deny, and Jecht was almost tolerable when sober. They paused for lunch in a patch of grass on the side of the dirt road, camped out in the shade of a crumbling stone building. 

A chocobo ran by, kicking up massive clouds of dust that lingered in its wake. A woman in goggles and a multicolored jumpsuit came sprinting up the road just as the dust settled. She stopped in front of them, bending forward slightly while she caught her breath.

“Hey, have you seen a chocobo run this way?” Her voice was smoke and leather. “A giant fiend spooked him, and he took off running. He’s got more legs than brains, and I need to catch him before the fiend does. Already lost five chocobos thanks to it.”

“He went that way. Do you need help catching him?” Braska said, already rising to a crouch.

She raised an eyebrow, having appraised them and found them lacking. Auron couldn’t decide if he should be insulted or relieved that they weren’t cut out for chocobo-wrangling. “I think I can handle it. More people’ll just spook him more. But if you wanted to take out that fiend, you’d be doing us a great favor.”

The silence that fell as she sprinted after her chocobo lasted just long enough for Auron to hope that nobody would suggest--

“We gotta stop that fiend,” Jecht said, spitting out bits of rice in his haste to both finish his ration and get the first word. 

“You know they’ll stop it on their own, right?” Auron said. He rolled his eyes when Jecht reacted like he’d suggested slaughtering chocobos to save the fiend the effort. “You don’t live on the Mi’ihen Highroad without learning how to fight. I guarantee they can handle this. We’d just be wasting our time.”

“Surely it wouldn’t hurt to help them,” Braska said. He aimed a placating smile in Auron’s direction, and Auron knew he was going to end up fighting the chocobo-eating fiend. “We  _ could  _ use the extra gil from hunting it, after all.”

And so Auron found himself joining the fiend hunt with minimal complaints. They walked in the direction the chocobo and handler had come from, pausing periodically to search for signs of the fiend. Aside from some stray feathers and claw marks that could have just as easily come from chocobos that weren’t in peril, they didn’t find a single clue.

“Rin’s business must be doing well,” Braska remarked as they approached a travel agency identical to the one near Lake Macalania. The building’s paint glistened in the sun, just a touch too shiny to be fully dry.

Jecht strode up to another chocobo handler, a woman with straw-blonde hair. “Hey. You seen any giant, chocobo-eatin’ fiends around here?”

She scrunched up her nose, which made the goggles covering her eyes wiggle.  _ “Fryd?” _

“Ah. Let me handle this,” Braska said as Jecht raised his arms to pantomime the question. After a rapid-fire conversation in Al Bhed, he turned to his guardians and said, “They think it lives around here. It’s shown up every day to feed, so we have a good chance of encountering it if we just--”

“Wait here?” Auron said, just barely managing to keep the frustration out of his tone. Waiting was bad enough on its own, but holding up the pilgrimage for a fiend hunt?

“Mm,” Braska said with a nod. 

Jecht dropped his arms from the “chocobo-wing” pose he’d adopted before Braska’s interruption of his one-man charades game. He tossed the recording sphere to Auron. “Gotta get a video of this, right?”

“Wrong,” Auron said, though he caught and continued holding the sphere. “You really want to record us fighting a fiend for your son?”

“Why not? It’ll show him how tough he’s gotta be if he wants to beat his old man,” Jecht said, flexing his arms. “Try to hold it steady this time.”

Auron rolled his eyes.  _ Hold it steady _ . It took titanic willpower to not mouth the words back sarcastically. 

“Well, here we are,” Braska said, speaking to nobody in particular. Oh. He was narrating the video that Auron wasn’t taking. “We’re on the Mi’ihen Highroad, about to fight--”

Auron pressed the record button just in time to catch the end of Braska’s sentence.

“A giant fiend that attacks chocobos...”

They chatted for a little longer, waiting for the fiend to appear. Nothing.

“Well, then…” Braska said. He trailed off, eyes widening as he stared at a spot above Auron’s head.

The earth shook as the fiend launched itself from atop the Agency’s roof, jostling the sphere from Auron’s hands. Auron drew his sword and raced to attack the fiend.

It towered above them, and its massive hands dragged on the ground. It opened its cleft mouth to roar, revealing a bifurcated purple tongue. Spittle sprayed everywhere like putrid rain. 

Jecht lunged forward, swinging his sword in an arc that should’ve landed a blow on the fiend’s bicep. Instead, he was backhanded several feet away. He skidded to a halt just inches from the edge of the Highroad. 

Auron had only begun running through attack plans when the chocobo eater hefted him up in one of its massive hands. His ribs creaked under the pressure, breaths getting weaker and weaker until he thought he would faint. 

“Braska, call an aeon!” Jecht shouted, drawing himself up into a low crouch. His sword dragged on the ground more than usual, and his ragged breaths were audible even above the fiend’s thunderous panting.

The chocobo eater roared again and flung Auron. Whatever relief he might have felt for his renewed lung capacity was quickly eclipsed by horror at the fact that he’d been flung directly at Jecht and Braska. Braska, who was focused on summoning and didn’t notice in time to duck. He struck them both, and the three of them careened off the edge of the road in a tangle of limbs and pain.

Auron lay in the dirt and tried to catch his breath. His chest burned with each breath, and the stabbing pain on his right side indicated he’d cracked a rib during the fight. He propped himself up on both arms, grunting as the cluster of bruises along his torso lit up in agony. He had to check on Braska.

He crawled on his hands and knees, body protesting each motion, until he reached Braska’s prone form. The heavy robes and chestpiece, while sufficient as protection, obscured the rise and fall of his chest. Auron pushed the worst-case scenario out of his mind and placed his fingers on Braska’s wrist in search of a pulse. After a tense moment where Auron was sure his own heart had stopped, he found it. The tears that welled in his eyes had nothing to do with his injuries.

Braska’s eyes shot open, and he sat up. “Auron? What’s wrong?”

Auron took a deep breath and instantly regretted it. He hunched over, hissing in a breath through his teeth. He’d have a headache on top of everything else if he kept clenching his jaw like this. “I must’ve landed on a rock. It’s. Nothing serious. Are you--?”

“Bruised, but it could be worse.” Braska stood, wincing as he rolled his shoulders. 

“Hey! You two all right?” Jecht said, bounding over to them. Aside from a nasty black eye and a limp, he looked no worse for wear.

Auron stood, his body trembling from the effort. His vision ebbed in and out, and it came back grainier each time. He pointed an accusatory finger at Jecht. “You! We could’ve died because you wanted to fight that fiend!” 

Braska stepped closer to him and spoke, but his voice muffled by the sea that occupied Auron’s ears. “We got a little overconfident. There was no lasting harm, and--Auron!”

He collapsed to his hands and knees, stomach churning as his sight blacked out entirely. His body went cold, like his veins had been sucked dry. Consciousness slipped through his fingers like an eel, only to return with nauseating clarity as Braska poured a potion over his head. His rib knit itself together, his bruises disappeared, and he threw up.

Auron wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing at the lingering, acrid taste of bile. “We should conserve--”

“You were on the verge of fainting, and spells take longer,” Braska said, helping pull Auron to his feet. He tilted Auron’s head up to check his pupil size. Satisfied with what he saw, he said, “Next time you need healing, do me a favor and tell me  _ before _ you collapse.”

“My lord.” It wasn’t an agreement. It was more than that--an affirmation of his devotion and an apology.

Braska ran his thumb along Auron’s jawline, the action almost absent-minded in its casualness. He withdrew his hand and prepared a healing spell for himself and Jecht. In twice the time it took Braska to use a potion, their injuries were healed. Judging by the sideways glance Auron received from Braska halfway through the spell, he’d wanted to illustrate that point.

“All right,” Jecht said, flexing his freshly healed leg. “Now, how do we get out of this ditch?”

#

They arrived at Luca on chocobo-back, having fought more manageable fiends to earn back some of their travel money. The air was thick with revelry as crowds of people gathered for the blitzball tournament. If not for the occasional worried glances at the sea followed by desperately renewed merriment, it would have been easy to believe they’d arrived in a land without Sin. 

“And here I thought we’d never get to have some fun!” Jecht said, pumping his fist in the air. “We’re staying for the tournament, right?”

“If Lord Braska wishes,” Auron said. While he wasn’t interested in blitzball, their encounter with the Chocobo Eater left him with a strong desire to avoid battle for the time being. 

Braska shrugged. “We might as well. I doubt we’d find any captains willing to set sail before the tournament, anyway. A day’s break won’t slow us too much.”

“Let me guess, you’re on a pilgrimage?” a tall, muscular woman said. Her ash blonde hair was plastered up in a polished top knot, and three raised scars ran laterally across her left cheek. When Braska nodded, her face lit up and she said, “Us, too! Where’re you from? I’m Odelia, and this is Dorli. We’re from Besaid.”

Dorli, a shorter woman with hair so vibrantly orange it could have served as warning coloration, linked arms with Odelia. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss her on the cheek and said, “Honey, the game’s about to start.” 

Odelia whooped, drawing echoes from the milling pedestrians. “You should come sit with us! I haven’t had the chance to talk with many other summoners yet.”

They entered the arena and took their seats. After some shuffling, the summoners were seated in the middle while Auron sat between Braska and Dorli. The building was packed all the way to the highest rows, and still more people filed in. Although the stadium had yet to fill with water, cheers erupted intermittently from the spectators. Excitement spread as easily as panic in a populace so often deprived of joy.

A blueish blur soared past his face. Dorli intercepted it before it could crash to the floor. Auron turned, though he already had a good idea of what he’d see. Braska and Odelia were deep in conversation, but Jecht was leaning far into the aisle, grinning wildly. He waved when Auron made eye contact.

“Hey! Dorli! Hand that to Auron, would you? He’s gonna record the game,” Jecht said, standing.

“Why can’t you record it?” Auron said as Dorli dropped the sphere on his lap. 

Jecht had already left the aisle and was standing on the stairs. “I heard the Beasts’ right forward slipped on the dock and got injured. I’m gonna see if they need a replacement.”

He was up the stairs and out the stadium before Auron could toss the sphere back to him. Auron shrugged. Maybe he’d be able to pay attention to blitzball if he was recording it for someone else.

The match wouldn’t start for five more minutes, but he pushed the button to begin recording. He could edit this part out later, but he couldn’t edit in the beginning of the match if he missed it. He panned the sphere across the room, getting an unbroken shot of the cheering crowd before recording Braska, who was still deep in conversation. As he watched Braska through the mechanical haze of the sphere, he could almost understand why Jecht liked recording videos so much. In a sad, silly way, it gave Braska a permanence he would never have otherwise. He would succeed in his pilgrimage, but the smiling, blue-tinged ghost of him would linger in these movies. Maybe, Auron thought, he’d ask to record one for himself.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” Dorli said. Her voice was soft, but it cut through the clamor like a sword.

“Recording?” Auron frowned at the sphere before shifting in his seat to face Dorli.

“No, loving a summoner.” Dorli sighed. “Helping them walk to their deaths… Sometimes I wonder whether I can truly love her when I couldn’t even talk her out of this.”

_ “I don’t love him.”  _ The words sat on his tongue like the aftertaste of a bitter herb, but who would he be fooling if he voiced them? Not himself--not anymore. Instead, he said, “But what other options do we have? Live in fear until Sin ends our lives prematurely? That’s no life at all. At least this way, we’re doing something to help.”

Dorli fixed him with a long, sad stare before turning to watch the stadium. The fanfare blared, and the match began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry it took me this long to update! Long story short, I straight-up forgot that I hadn't posted this chapter until I checked today. I have the next two written, too, so I might put chapter 7 up today.


	7. Chapter 7

They boarded the  _ S.S. Slimehead  _ the next morning, long before most of the visiting blitzball fans were awake. The few civilians who had crawled out of bed and onto the streets looked seconds away from asking Braska to send them. One of them, still obviously inebriated, sat huddled against the Luca stadium, mumbling every other line of a children’s rhyme in between honking sobs.

“Hey, Auron! Did you get that last match?” Jecht said, boisterous despite the early hour. Auron had wondered how well Jecht’s resolution to stop drinking would hold up in the face of post-tournament celebration, but he’d shrugged off their concerns with a mumbled comment about finally making his son proud.

“Yeah,” Auron said. He’d watched his recording after the game, and he was only half-lying. While most of the video consisted of blurry shots of the crowd interspersed with steadier shots of the people closer to him, the blitzball stadium had featured in some of the wider crowd shots. At the very least, anyone watching it could tell it took place during a tournament. “But I don’t understand why you wanted me to. Didn’t you say they have blitzball in your Zanarkand?”

“Not a sportsman, are ya?” If Jecht had been high-energy before, he was downright gregarious while sober. Why did he have to be a morning person?

Braska emerged from behind some wooden crates and walked into the frame. “Working on your form?”

Jecht scoffed. “My form don’t need no work. I’m the great Jecht. It’s for my kid.”

“Your son plays blitzball?”

“Yeah, and he wants to beat his old man bad. Once, I told him to give it up. He didn’t speak to me for a week. Wonder what he’s doing now. I hope he got bigger and put on some muscle,” Jecht said, walking to a far pile of crates and leaning so his forehead pressed against it. It might have been Auron’s imagination, but it sounded like Jecht had just sniffled. He moved to get a closer look and--maybe--try comforting him.

“Hey, what’s the big idea? Stop shooting!” Jecht glowered at him, his cheeks shiny with tears. 

Auron switched off the recorder and moved to place a comforting hand on Jecht’s shoulder. It connected, but sat there stiffly. How did Braska make it look so easy? Maybe words would work better. “You’ll see your son again.”

Jecht half-sniffled, half-snorted, the sound thick with snot. He rubbed his eyes and walked towards the cabins with a mumbled, “Thanks, Auron.” 

The ship listed as lazy waves nudged it back and forth. Occasionally a gull would break the silence with a strident squawk, but the sea and boat remained calm for the most part. The slow rocking of the ship was hypnotizing, and Auron couldn’t help but move in time with it. Maybe he shouldn’t do that so close to the railing, though...

“Are you all right?”

Auron stumbled backwards, blinking rapidly. “Oh? Yes, I just haven’t been on a ship in some time.”

Braska nodded in understanding. “It does take some getting used to. You’ve been quiet since the blitzball match, and I wondered if something was wrong.”

“Mm…” Auron fixed his ponytail, more as a stalling tactic than out of necessity. He’d already decided not to tell Braska. He had enough to worry about without adding a foolish infatuation to the mix. Now, it seemed, he just needed to learn how to act natural. “Nothing’s wrong. Meeting that other summoner party gave me a lot to think about. Sorry for worrying you.”

“Don’t apologize,” Braska said, smiling and closing his eyes against the sun. “I wouldn’t worry if I didn’t care. They  _ were  _ an interesting pair, weren’t they? I wonder if they’ll reach Zanarkand before us.”

Auron’s mind went blank except for one phrase, repeated like a mantra. Braska cared about him. He bit his cheek, breaking the thought cycle. There was no use getting his hopes up. Braska cared about him because he was his guardian, nothing more. And Braska would reach Zanarkand, and then… 

“I’m going to check on Jecht,” Braska said, snapping him back to the present. He opened his eyes, fixing Auron with an unreadable expression. The corners of his mouth were tilted up in a smile, but his eyes were dead serious. “I’m always happy to listen, if you ever want to talk about anything.”

Braska had already crossed the deck and turned the corner when Auron was able to say, “I care about you, too.” The waves undoubtedly swallowed his words.

#

They arrived at Kilika--or what was left of it--several hours later, far too late to have helped. The dock had been smashed to splinters, and all but a few homes were reduced to rubble. 

“Sin,” the captain said solemnly, crossing her arms over her torso. 

Jecht clutched the hilt of his sword and scanned the area, desperately searching for something to fight. Anything to not feel useless, helpless, Auron supposed. Jecht’s shoulders sagged when it became clear that any remaining sinspawn had already fled into the jungle. There was nothing to do but mourn and send the dead.

The survivors watched Braska with guarded hope as he and his guardians disembarked onto the remaining part of the dock. How many times had they rebuilt this village since Sin returned ninety years ago? It was amazing that hope still existed in Spira. 

A hush fell over the surviving villagers as Braska stepped out onto the water and began the sending. Even if he’d wanted to, Auron couldn’t tear his eyes away from Braska’s dance. As transfixed as he was, it wasn’t until Braska had returned to the dock that he noticed the small cluster of villagers who alternated between shooting venomous glares at Braska and whispering among themselves. Blood churning in his ears, Auron left Braska and Jecht to confront them.

“... Can’t believe he could actually send them,” the man in the center of the crowd said. “What’s Yevon come to, if  _ he’s  _ a summoner?”

Another villager scoffed. “Sure, he can send the dead. Anyone with a bit of training can do that. He’ll never reach Zanarkand, wait and see.”

Auron pushed his way into the crowd until he stood face to face with the man in the center. “Take that back.”

The ringleader rolled his eyes.

“You  _ will  _ take that back,” he said, crossing his arms to keep his hands from trembling at his sides. “Lord Braska is just as capable as any other summoner. He’ll make it to Zanarkand and defeat Sin.”

“Auron!” Like a hand yanking him up from underwater, Braska’s voice pulled Auron out of the argument in an instant. He sputtered, but returned to Braska’s side after glaring once more at the group.

“Sorry, my lord,” he said. “But they--”

“I know,” Braska said, taking Auron’s hands in his and squeezing lightly. His voice was soft, but his eyes were steely as he said, “There will be others, and they’ll say worse. I’ve heard it before. We don’t need to argue with them, because we’re going to bring the Calm.” 

Auron replayed those words in his head as they walked to the Kilika Temple. Shameful as it was, they were the only thing that kept him from resorting to physical violence. His temper cooled as they entered the jungle, and by the time they’d lost sight of the village it was only a couple degrees hotter than usual. 

The same thing couldn’t be said for Kilika’s jungle. Unlike Macalania Woods, even the deepest parts of the jungle were oppressively hot, and humidity clouded the air until it was hard to tell where it ended and sweat began. Mild discomfort aside, Kilika was beautiful. The jungle was lush and filled with ambient sounds of life, from the gentle coos of unseen birds to the sleepy croaking of frogs on the riverbed. 

“Thought you were gonna deck someone back there,” Jecht said after Braska disappeared into the Chamber of the Fayth. 

Auron huffed.

“Aw, don’t get pissy. I’m not judging.” Jecht fell silent, and it looked like that might be the end of it. Then he added,  “It just surprised me, is all.”

“You’ve seen me fight before,” Auron said, resigning himself to the conversation. It seemed Jecht would keep speaking regardless of what he did, so he might as well contribute. “Did that surprise you, too?”

Jecht scratched his head. “Nobody was in danger this time, unless you think hurtin’ Braska’s feelings is as bad as a fiend attack.” 

Auron crossed his arms and turned away from Jecht. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Huh. Is this a Spiran thing, or an Auron thing?” Jecht barked out a syllable of laughter. “Don’t bother answering. I think I have an idea.”

The blood drained from Auron’s face. He thought he’d been so careful. Jecht had spent most of their trip in varying states of drunkenness; how had he figured it out? Did that mean Braska knew? If he didn’t already, he would soon. Auron would bet his last gil that Jecht was terrible at keeping secrets. 

“Figures you’d be an overachiever about this stuff,” Jecht said, breaking his spiral of panic. “Could you cool it with defending Braska’s honor? You’re makin’ me look bad.”

Auron laughed, more out of relief than amusement. Jecht didn’t know. His secret was still safe. “I don’t think you need my help with that.”

“Hmph. You--” Jecht stopped, then said, “Hey, Braska! That was quick. Does that mean you’re getting better at this?”

Braska swayed a little on his feet, but he didn’t look nearly as tired as before. That was a good sign, right? “I hope so.”

Jecht clapped Braska on the shoulder, smiling like he hoped to light entire rooms with nothing but his grin.“You’re too humble! Don’t tell me you’re gonna stay like this when everyone’s cheering your name.”

A shadow of pain passed over Braska’s face, as subtle and transient as a cirrus cloud. He smiled and said, “I guess we’ll see when that happens. Why don’t we see if they need help rebuilding the pier?”

The villagers didn’t need help, and they were eager to repeat this sentiment until even Braska’s desire to aid them waned. By Auron’s estimation, they’d use their dying breath to refuse Braska’s help. He tried to let it go, but the wrongness of it all bubbled in his veins like poison. Braska was going to give his life for them, of that Auron had no doubt, and they still had the audacity to hate him for who he loved? Auron’s frustration only abated after they’d set sail for Besaid and Kilika faded into the horizon.

He’d stood next to Braska at the bow of the ship as it set sail. The sea stretched out ahead of them, a seemingly infinite span of sparkling blue that stung his eyes if he looked at it too long. They’d let the silence fall over them like a well-worn blanket, heavy but not suffocating.

Jecht broke the silence first with a question about their travel itinerary. His tone was nonchalant, but the pause before he asked where they were going after Besaid was thick with anxiety. His shoulders tensed a little at Auron’s answer, and the smile he gave after Braska’s addition looked more like a rictus. 

“Beyond it lies… Zanarkand.” Braska spoke the words simply, solemnly. He spoke like he was reading his own death sentence. It was the closest Auron had seen him come to revealing the truth about summoners to Jecht, and it opened a yawning abyss in his stomach. 

“Zanarkand, huh? It’s been in ruins for a thousand years, right?” Jecht said, his casual tone belied by the desperate gleam in his eyes. Every inch of his expression begged them to prove him wrong. 

Auron walked down the steps towards Jecht, making eye contact as he said, “So the legends say. No one knows for sure. It still could be your Zanarkand.”

As far as lies went, it wasn’t his least convincing one. 

Jecht’s eyes dimmed, though he kept smiling. So much for fooling him, then. “Thanks for trying, Auron.”

He switched off the sphere and walked towards the stern. As he walked, the sphere fell from his hands, rolling to a stop next to a crate. The silence that fell after Jecht’s departure scratched at Auron’s skin.

Braska retrieved the sphere, turning it over in his hands as he inspected it for damage. “I’ll be right back.”

Auron sat on the steps, wishing the entrance to the lower decks wasn’t on the stern’s side. He didn’t want to interrupt Braska and Jecht’s conversation, but the day grew hotter by the second and there was little shade to be found on the deck. The ocean was calm, and the few small waves that churned against the hull did little to muffle Jecht’s voice.

“I thought if I went with you guys, I might find a way to go back. But it’s not that easy.”

Oh. Auron had wondered when Jecht would accept that their worlds weren’t the same. Despite first impressions, he wasn’t stupid, but desperation and hope could cloud anybody’s mind.

The rest of the conversation floated by, despite Auron’s best attempts to ignore it. When Jecht and Braska returned to the bow, they’d reached Besaid. As they trekked through the beach and up the beaten trail to the village, the three of them had cheered up considerably. About halfway up the trail, Jecht had even begun whistling an ear-splitting tune guaranteed to either summon or drive off any fiends lurking in the area. 

The village, which was nestled high up on the hillside, captured Braska’s heart the moment they reached it. Despite Jecht’s accurate description of Besaid, it wasn’t hard to understand why Braska was enamored with it. 

“When this is over… could you bring Yuna here?” Braska had said after Jecht ran towards the temple. The heaviness in Auron’s voice as he promised to do so was only partially caused by the gravity of his promise. 

This was the life Braska deserved. It was all too easy to imagine him and Yuna living happily on Besaid, free from the shadow of Sin. With time, perhaps the sadness would melt from their eyes and Braska would see the dawn of a new Spira, one that would grow to accept and love him as he deserved. But he wouldn't. He couldn’t. This fundamental unfairness stuck in Auron’s throat like tar, thick and suffocating. But he swallowed it and smiled for Braska’s sake, and they exchanged the sunny respite of the village for the solemn chill of Besaid Temple. 

After the sun had set and all boats leaving for Kilika that day had long since sailed, the three of them sat around a roaring campfire with several of the friendlier locals. 

“So, what’ll you do?” Jecht said suddenly, breaking their companionable silence.

“Hmm?” Auron kept watching the embers disappear into the night sky. 

“When all this is over, after Braska defeats Sin. What’ll you do then?” Jecht slurped up more of his cold melon soup and added, “I mean, I know what I’ll be doin’, and Braska’ll be so busy dealing with cheering fans that he’ll have  _ his  _ hands full. But what are your plans?”

Auron tore his gaze away from the fire and looked at Braska, who was patiently listening to a girl around Yuna’s age spin a rambling tale about the time a fiend wandered into the village and fell asleep in front of the temple. He said, “I suppose I’ll stay at Lord Braska’s side. I hadn’t put much thought into it, honestly.”

Jecht laughed and slapped him on the back, knocking Auron’s empty bowl out of his hands. “I’m not surprised. Hey, maybe you’ll have some fans to fend off, too! You’ll be some kind of legend, right?”

“Ha. Right.”

They fell back into silence until Jecht said, “Do you think he’ll be proud of me?”

Auron cocked his head. “Lord Braska?”

“My son.” Jecht rubbed his face and sniffed. “I fucked up. Before Sin sent me here, I was on my way to dying as a washed-up drunk, and the kid knew it. He hated me, and I can’t blame him for it. I don’t know how I’m gonna get back to Zanarkand, but when I do, I just wanna make sure I’ll be the kind of man he can look up to.”

Auron shifted so he faced Jecht. The fire's shadows flickered over Jecht's face, obscuring his eyes. “He’ll look up to you. I’m sure of it.”

“I hope you’re right.” Jecht sighed and stood. “I’m gonna get some sleep. This ‘talking about feelings’ thing is exhausting.”

As the fire dwindled to a few persistent embers and the villagers returned to their huts, Braska came to stand next to Auron. Although night had fallen several hours ago, the air was only slightly cooler than it had been during the day. The silence that fell over the village was only broken the distant crash of the ocean on the shore. 

“Would you like to take a walk?” Braska said, his voice as hushed and powerful as the waves. “I thought it might be nice to visit the beach before bed.”

Auron was on his feet immediately. “There could be fiends, sir.”

Braska’s smile was soft and otherworldly in the moonlight, like a half-remembered dream. “That’s why I invited one of my guardians along.”

The walk to the beach was blessedly free of fiends, and the wind that blew in off the sea cooled the area without making it uncomfortably chilly. The pilgrimage wasn’t a pleasure cruise, but moments like this made it easy to pretend it was. 

“You haven’t told Jecht about what will happen when we reach Zanarkand, have you?” Braska said once they’d reached the beach.

“No, my lord. I thought it might be best if you told him.” Auron looked out at the dark sea and added, “I’m not sure how to break the news.”

Braska’s laugh was humorless. It sounded like it belonged to a complete stranger. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Part of me wonders if it might be kinder to not tell him… But we can’t exactly hide the truth from him forever.”

He shook his head and said, “Forgive me. I didn’t invite you here so we could discuss this.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

“Thank you, Auron,” Braska said, turning suddenly and enveloping Auron in his arms. Even this close to the sea, he radiated warmth. He smelled faintly of spiced tea and the incense used in Yevon’s temples. 

Auron stiffened for a second, then relaxed into the embrace. After a moment’s hesitation, he brought his arms up to return the hug. “My lord?”

“I don’t think I could do this without you.” Braska’s voice was low and choked. When he took a deep, shaky breath, it reverberated through Auron’s chest. “I couldn’t ask for a better friend, let alone a better guardian.”

“It’s an honor to be both,” Auron said, his own voice thick as mud. 

Braska squeezed Auron’s shoulder tightly before pulling away from the hug. The moonlight could have been playing tricks, but it looked like he’d been crying.

Auron reached out and squeezed Braska’s hand. They stayed out on the beach until dawn broke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! It's been a long time, and if you're still keeping up with this fic then I can't thank you enough. I have the very last chapter written out; I just want to read it over a few more times before I post it. But it should be up by tomorrow at the latest!


	8. Chapter 8

Logically, Auron knew that Macalania Forest hadn’t changed between their visits, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the woods had grown more somber. A glance at Jecht and Braska confirmed his suspicions: their group carried melancholy into Macalania Forest like a group of pallbearers, and no change of scenery would help them shake it off.

“Hey,” Jecht said, breaking the silence like it was a bone. He tossed a recording sphere in his hands as he said, “Can we stop for a bit? It won’t take long, promise.”

Braska nodded, and Jecht looked to Auron as though waiting for him to argue.

“Just make it quick,” he said, though his words were pale and flimsy in comparison to his previous complaints. Judging by Jecht’s raised eyebrows, it was obvious.

“I’m going to tell him when he gets back,” Braska said once Jecht was out of sight.

Auron stared in Jecht’s direction before hissing, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“He’s going to find out eventually,” Braska said with a smile so thin it was almost transparent. “I’d prefer it happen before I defeat Sin.”

Jecht returned some minutes later. His eyes were puffy, but his cheeks were dry. There was no sign of the sphere he’d carried when he left. He cleared his throat and said, “What are we standing around for? Zanarkand’s not getting any closer.”

“Actually, we wanted to tell you something before we keep going,” Braska said, laying each word out carefully. “It’s about Sin, and what will happen after I defeat it.”

“Okay,” Jecht said. He looked as wary as Auron felt. There was no way this could end well. “What’s up?”

“After Sin is defeated…” Braska paused and shook his head. “The summoner who defeats Sin will die.”

Jecht’s jaw dropped, and he looked between Auron and Braska, searching for a sign that they were joking. His fists shook at his sides. “And you’ve known… How long have you known?”

“Since the beginning.” Braska closed his eyes and said, “I apologize. We should have--”

“Damn right you should’ve! All this time, all this fucking time, you’ve known and you didn’t tell me? You let me say all that stupid shit about parades and…” Jecht took a deep, sobbing breath. His face was ruddy, and every expression he made crumpled within seconds. “Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

Auron stepped forward, positioning himself between Jecht and Braska ever so slightly. “We didn’t know how. Do you think it was easy, knowing this whole time that Lord Braska is… That he’ll--”

Braska placed a hand on Auron’s shoulder. “We’re sorry, Jecht. And we understand if you want to part ways. There might be another way for you to return home.”

“Like that’s gonna happen.” Jecht snorted. “Sorry, but you’re stuck with me. I’m seeing this thing through.”

“We’re happy to have you.” Braska turned back to the road. “Are we ready to go?”

“Yeah, better get a move on,” Jecht said without a trace of his earlier enthusiasm. When he spoke again, his tone was funereal. “Zanarkand’s not getting any closer.”

#

“Hey, Auron. I need to talk to you,” Jecht said when they’d reached the base of Mt. Gagazet. “You go on ahead, Braska, we’ll catch up in a minute.”

Auron moved to the side of the snowy path and watched Braska disappear around the corner. “Yes?”

Jecht slapped him across his right cheek. The crack of flesh meeting flesh carried over the shrieking winds. Before Auron could demand an answer for his action, Jecht spat, “‘I suppose I’ll stay at Lord Braska’s side,’ my ass. Like hell you’re _both_ dying. Not on my watch.”

“I…” Auron cradled his cheek in his hand. His flesh burned where Jecht had struck him. “You remembered that?”

“Yeah, clearly.” Jecht said, flexing his hand. His expression softened slightly, but his tone remained brusque. “It’s bad enough Braska’s going to die for this. You’re not dying unless you have to, got it?”

“Got it,” Auron lied.

Jecht crossed his arms. “Guess that’s really all I can ask for.”

“You could apologize for slapping me.” The words came out more petulant than he’d expected, but hitting him had been entirely unnecessary.

Jecht laughed, a short, almost humorless syllable. “Nah, you deserved that one.”

Jecht walked away, ending the conversation and leaving Auron running to catch up with him and Braska.

The hike up Mt. Gagazet was arduous; the wind itself seemed determined to halt their progress. Each step sank them further into the snow, and the ice cut through Auron’s will to continue. But if he paused for even a second, he couldn’t guarantee he’d move again.

They reached the cave entrance just before night fell. With stiff, half-frozen fingers, they collected enough dried moss off the cave walls for Braska to start a small fire with a spell. They huddled around the sputtering flames in pensive silence as the snow melted from their clothing.

“We should reach Zanarkand by tomorrow night,” Braska said, his voice barely audible over the fire. “There’s no telling what awaits us there, so be on your guard.”

“You should get some rest, my lord. Zanarkand’s Cloister is bound to be more demanding than the others.” Auron swallowed a yawn and added, “I can take first watch.”

It might have been a trick of the light, but the shadows under Braska’s eyes looked so much darker than they had before. Still, he smiled and said, “Of course. Wake me when it’s my turn to guard?”

Braska and Jecht’s breaths slowed as they slipped asleep. Some terrible, selfish part of Auron wanted to shake Braska awake just to reassure himself that he was still alive, that they still had time together, however short it might be. It was foolish. He’d known from the beginning that Braska would sacrifice himself for Spira, but the immediacy of that decision, coupled with their proximity to Zanarkand, bore down on him until he couldn’t breathe. He rubbed his temples. Obsessing over this was getting him nowhere. He’d be better off distracting himself with patrolling the campsite until he could speak with Braska in the morning. And so the hours passed, and Auron’s thoughts never progressed beyond discerning shadows from threats.

Something shuffled behind him, and Auron spun, sword drawn. Braska blinked up at him, his eyes still dull with sleep.

“You didn’t wake me,” he said without reproach.

“I must have lost track of time,” Auron said, rubbing his eyes. “You look tired, my lord. Why don’t you go back to sleep?”

“You’re only saying that because you can’t see yourself,” Braska said with a fond chuckle. “Get some rest, Auron. You’ll need it as much as I will.”

“In a few minutes.” Auron sheathed his sword and sat next to Braska. The minutes trickled by in comfortable silence, and he grew tired despite his best efforts. He prolonged the fight as much as he could, but eventually he fell asleep with his head propped against Braska’s shoulder.

He woke with a stiff neck some hours later when it was Jecht’s turn to stand guard. Cheeks burning, he said, “You could have woken me.”

“And risk you trying to stay awake again?” Braska said with a yawn. “It seemed better to let you sleep. Does your neck hurt?”

Auron stopped rubbing his neck. The pain had already abated, but he felt better if he had something to occupy his hands. “It’s just a little stiff, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

“If you’re gonna stay up and chat, can I go back to sleep?” Jecht said, though he kept pacing around the campfire to wake himself up.

“Don’t even think about it,” Braska said, making eye contact with Auron. His voice was warm and sleepy, like honeyed tea. To Jecht: “Please don’t let him stay awake.”

“I won’t,” Auron and Jecht said in unison. It was impossible to tell which of them sounded more put-upon.

Auron lay down, cleared his mind, and let his breathing match Braska’s. In no time at all, he fell asleep.

#

Zanarkand. Pyreflies, more than Auron had seen outside of a Sending, danced in the air. The stench of death had long since dissipated, and the bones of Zanarkand’s citizens had been crushed to dust by time and travellers alike. But Zanarkand didn’t need such temporary trappings to evoke death--you could sweep and send the pyreflies and rebuild the city, but death would linger like a worrisome cough. Death was the essence of Zanarkand, and it crawled over Auron’s skin and filled his lungs like pneumonia.

Here and there, he could almost imagine what Zanarkand must have been like a thousand years ago. A restaurant, bustling with people and brightly decorated, now gone grey and deserted.

“It’s really gone,” Jecht said, stopping to touch the remains of a building. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the stone, momentarily slipping into a private world where his Zanarkand still existed. “I’d hoped…”

He broke off the sentence with a bitter laugh and pushed himself away from the crumbling wall. He shook off Auron and Braska’s attempts to comfort him and said, “No point crying over it now.”

They were halfway down the walkway when the first group of memories appeared.

“Use my life, Lady Yocun, and rid Spira of Sin.”

Auron jumped back when the spectre spoke, nearly losing his balance and stumbling off the ancient walkway. Yocun’s guardian stood next to him, entirely unaware of the spectators. Although her helmet and mask obscured most of her face, determination radiated from her voice and stance. She couldn’t have been much younger than him… and what did she mean by “use my life”?

“Well, that was spooky,” Jecht said, waving his hand through the air where the memories had stood.

“The pyreflies,” Braska said, his voice bordering on reverent. “They’re recreating memories from past pilgrimages.”

“What was she talking about?” Panic prickled and crawled of Auron’s skin. There were several implications for the guardian’s words, and none of them were good. “She said ‘use my life.’ What did she mean? How was her life used?”

Braska frowned. “I wish I knew. Perhaps we’ll find out when we reach the temple.”

 _The temple, where Braska would…_ Auron jolted as though doused in ice water. It was now or never, his last chance to save Braska’s life.

Jecht beat him to the punch. Beneath his gruff tone, there was genuine concern when he said, “Hey, Braska. You don’t have to do this.”

“Thank you for your concern.” Braska’s smile was feigned and placid.

“Fine. I’ve said my piece,” Jecht said, his motions clipped and frustrated. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t speak.

“Well, I haven’t!” Auron’s hands trembled at his side. He braced himself, raised his head to meet Braska’s eyes, and said, “Lord Braska, let us go back! I don’t want to see you… die!”

Braska’s smile dimmed further as he said, “You knew this was to happen, my friend.”

“Yes, but I…” Auron paused, his confession lodged in his throat. No. _If_ he told Braska, it wouldn’t be like this, wielded like a weapon against Braska’s decision. It warranted a separate conversation, and now wasn’t the time. “I cannot accept it.”

“Auron, I am honored that you have come to care for me so. But I have come to kill grief itself. I will defeat Sin, and lift the veil of sorrow covering Spira.” Braska’s eyes softened, and his voice took on a subtle pleading tone as he said, “Please understand, Auron.”

The rest of the walk to the temple was a solemn affair, plagued by the ghosts of memories of those who had come before them. When they reached the temple, Jecht froze.

His mouth moved, but no sound accompanied the motions. Then: “You’re kidding. Is this some kind of joke? That’s my old blitzball stadium!”

Once Jecht said it, Auron could see the similarities. Though most of the dome had long since shattered, leaving the temple open to the elements, what remained was strangely reminiscent of a blitzball stadium. Instead of pyreflies, the building would be illuminated by machina, and silence would be a foreign concept during matches.

“I wonder if they’re connected…?” Auron said, not really expecting a response. None came. In fact, they walked in silence until they entered the temple.

“Are the Trials ahead?” Jecht said.

Pyreflies swarmed around them, partially obscuring Braska as he answered. “Probably.”

“Here, too, huh? Gimme a break. I was expecting, you know, parades and… fireworks!” Jecht said, waving his arms for emphasis. Judging by his expression, he was also trying to conceal his unease with the old joke.

“You can ask for them after I defeat Sin,” Braska said, though without his usual smile. Even jokes died in Zanarkand.

When they’d made their way through the Cloister of Trials and past the temple’s guardian, they were met by palpable emptiness. While the other temples had a subtle power that thrummed through them like a heartbeat, Zanarkand’s temple was still and void. Auron couldn’t put his finger on the cause until Braska said:

“There’s no aeon here.” He turned to them, his mouth pinched with worry. “The Final Aeon is missing.”

“Huh? What do you mean no Final Aeon?” Jecht said, his voice echoing off the cavernous walls.

“I can’t sense it at all,” Braska said, looking around the room as if hoping that one of the carvings would explain their situation. Desperate for answers, they ventured further into the temple.

The door at the top of the stairs swung open, and a woman emerged. How had she been living in the temple? For how long? Were there others living secretly in the ruins?

“Welcome to Zanarkand.”

The next few minutes seemed to drag by in a blur. There was no Final Aeon waiting to be summoned. The woman--Yunalesca--wanted to transform one of the guardians into the fayth for the Final Summoning. Yunalesca disappeared back into her cloister, leaving them to deliberate over an unwinnable decision.

Some debate it was. Auron begged for them to see reason, to see that their deaths would be in vain, but neither Braska nor Jecht could be convinced. With the vague assurance that he’d think of something, Jecht disappeared, laughing, into Yunalesca’s cloister, and Braska followed him.

Bereft of other options and overcome with sorrow, Auron fell to his knees.

Braska returned alone. He shuffled down the stairs, leaning heavily on his staff, and all but collapsed into Auron’s arms when he reached out to steady him.

“My lord, are you hurt?”

Braska shook his head. His breathing was labored, as if he’d just run a race--or finished sobbing. Auron tightened his embrace, and he held him until his breathing returned to normal.

“We should leave,” Braska said. His voice was toneless. “The Calm Lands await us.”

Traveling wasn’t the same without Jecht. Every so often, Auron would turn, expecting to have to scold Jecht for dawdling to take another movie, but there was nothing but snow behind him. Even the quiet moments at night, when they were too tired to hold a conversation, were quieter now that they’d lost him.

“It’s hard to believe he’s gone,” Braska said after they’d set up camp for the night.

Auron didn’t reply. What was there say? He could yell all he wanted, but it wouldn’t change Jecht’s decision now any more than it had in Zanarkand. Besides, he’d run out of anger thirty minutes into their hike down the mountain. His desperate rage had been replaced by a despair that soaked through every fiber of his being, and the knowledge that Braska would die soon only compounded his hopelessness.

They reached the Calm Lands by noon the next day. Everything about the place was bright: grass so green it seemed artificial, a sky so blue it made Auron’s eyes ache, and chocobos dotted the land like specks of sunshine. Under other circumstances, Auron might have found it charming, but now it sickened him.

“Lord Braska, wait!” Auron said, grasping Braska’s wrist before he could stroll out of the ravine and onto the endless fields.

Braska frowned. “Auron--”

“It’s not about that.” He took a deep breath, despite the fact that air burned in his chest. He couldn’t leave this unsaid. He kept his gaze fixed downwards as he said, “Lord Braska, I… I love you.”

He forced himself to look at Braska, who hadn’t made a sound since his confession. Braska’s lips were parted slightly, and his eyes were wide as though he’d been struck. Then he frowned, palpable waves of sorrow rolling off of him.

“Oh, Auron.”

Of course his feelings weren’t reciprocated. He hadn’t expected them to be, but the small, sad rejection still stung. He should have stayed quiet and let his love die with Braska.

Braska reached out with his free hand and cupped Auron’s cheek.

“Oh, Auron.” He repeated. His voice was fond but tinged with audible regret when he said, “I wish you’d told me before.”

“Would it have changed anything?” Auron said, unable to meet Braska’s eyes any longer. It was like staring at the sun--bright and burning; he half-expected to be consumed by flames.

“I can’t say. It might have changed some things. Small changes, but important ones.” Braska stroked Auron’s cheek with his thumb, tugging Auron’s attention back to his face. With a smile that could’ve been blown away by the wind, he said, “I love you, Auron. And… I’m sorry.”

Braska broke away from Auron and strode forth into the Calm Lands. Auron had no choice but to follow as best as he could.

As if on cue, Sin appeared just above the horizon. Fast, faster than should have been possible for a creature of its size, it flew towards them and landed with ground-shattering force.

The battle felt like a nightmare. Despite his best efforts, Auron found himself frozen at the edge of the Calm Lands, unable to do anything but watch helplessly as Braska performed his last dance and summoned the Final Aeon. As Braska’s Final Aeon sheared off massive chunks of pyreflies from Sin’s body, Auron closed his eyes and prayed that somehow things would be different, that somehow Braska would survive the battle.

One final noise of pain from Sin, a bellow that shook Auron’s bones and turned his legs to jelly. Auron opened his eyes just in time to watch Braska crumple to the ground like a toy abandoned by a capricious child. Able to move once more, Auron was at Braska’s side in a matter of seconds.

“Lord Braska, no. _Please_ ,” he said, cradling Braska’s body against his chest. A thin line of blood trickled from the corner of Braska’s mouth. He wiped it away, irrationally hoping that somehow the action would bring him back. Braska remained still and lifeless. Auron wept.

When Braska dissolved into pyreflies in his arms and no more tears would come, Auron stood and set off in the direction of Mt. Gagazet. He needed to speak with Yunalesca.

#

Ten years later, with Sin vanquished and an era of lasting peace brought to Spira, Auron finally allowed himself to depart for the Farplane. The old aches and tension disappeared along with his body, and it was the happiest he’d been since before Braska’s Calm.

“Auron!”

If he hadn’t died a decade earlier, Auron’s heart would have stopped when he heard Braska’s voice. He turned, inarticulate delight suffusing his thoughts as Braska walked over and enveloped him in a hug. He could spend the rest of his afterlife in Braska’s arms, and it wouldn’t be long enough.

Slowly, reluctantly, Braska took a step back. He ran a finger along the lower half of Auron’s scar and said, “You’ve changed.”

Auron winced, acutely aware of how the years had affected him. “Death didn’t agree with me.”

“It looks like you disagreed with it just as much,” Braska said, still mapping the changes on Auron’s face with his fingers. He paused with his thumb a hair’s breadth away from Auron’s lips. “I’ve spoken with Konja about you. About us. She’s given me her blessing. Ah, that is to say… May I kiss you?”

Auron stared at Braska, mouth agape. Then he chuckled and said, “You had my permission ten years ago. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed.”

Affection as heady as any perfume blossomed inside Auron when Braska smiled and ran his thumb along his lower lip. Braska moved his hand to caress Auron’s cheek, then leaned in and brushed their lips together, as gentle as a daydream. When he pulled back, Auron closed the space between them and kissed Braska again, a lingering kiss that grew sweeter with each passing second. Kissing Braska felt like inhaling after holding his breath for longer than he could recall. It felt like home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the end of it! Hopefully y'all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

**Author's Note:**

> I had some reservations about uploading this because it's been so long since FFX came out, but here I am, arriving 16 years late with Starbucks and a lot of feelings about Braska and Auron. Hopefully someone else will enjoy this!


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